


Happy Merloween

by yourrockyspine



Series: Happy Merloween [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Halloween, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-07-20 07:41:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 23,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16132742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yourrockyspine/pseuds/yourrockyspine
Summary: A collection of stand-alone tales of horror and dismay, in early celebration of Halloween.AKA "Merlin but make it creepy."Primarily Merlin/Arthur-themed, and not always very happy. Not always very unhappy, either. Unpleasant tales get a :( face in Notes, because I am a benevolent torturer. Pleasant tales get a resounding :) in advance.FINISHED FOR THE YEAR!





	1. A Noise From The Basement

**Author's Note:**

> :( vs. :)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur Pendragon, aged 21 just moved into a wonderfully adequate flat close to his university. It's spacious, lovely, and he doesn't have to deal with pesky roommates.
> 
> So what if it's extremely affordable just because a student killed himself in the place? Spirits aren't a thing.
> 
> Would be nice if the pained moans from the laundry room stopped, though...

**A NOISE FROM THE BASEMENT**

21-year-old college student Arthur Pendragon hit the jackpot with his flat: a place to call his own, very close to university premises, and affordable enough to almost count as pocket change. Would've been nice if someone had bothered to inform him about the ghost in the laundry room, though.

Arthur Pendragon got very lucky, indeed. He'd hoped to snatch a halfway decent flat close to his university of choice, and guessed that his family connections would probably help land him just such a place. Pendragons had a way of getting their foot in the door, no matter the extenuating circumstances, and Arthur had no reason to believe he'd be the exception.

What he hadn't anticipated was stumbling upon what was for all intents and purposes his dream flat. And not only that: seemed he was being charged a downright pitiful amount per month.

Arthur hadn't made it this far in life as a rich, future law student without questioning the odd thing that seemed too good to be true. But the estate agent insisted that it was no big deal, really: just some poor fellow had hanged himself.

A literal 'poor fellow', Arthur realised when he pressed the increasingly nervous estate agent for further details. Turned out this room was a hell of a lot cheaper before, because according to the old Board of Directors, one entirely more merciful than its current replacement, underprivileged scholarship students deserved a chance to make it to school in time. But just as Arthur expected from a collection of rich men who figured they'd throw the dog a bone, it took exactly one single bad experience with an underpaid resident to close the whole place down and reserve the free spaces for their altogether more successful (read: well-off) candidates.

Arthur wasn't much of a liberal bleeding heart, but hearing the estate agent recount the tale of an underprivileged young man taking his life in this very flat as if to say "Well, that's the poors for you" made his bowels constrict in shame.

Tragic story aside, it was a _wonderful_ flat...

Given the fact that he didn't believe in negative energy and cursed places, Arthur agreed to sign the papers. This flat was amazing, located wonderfully close to the university, and he only felt slightly guilty at how easily he'd got himself a room that was once a poor scholarship student's access to to the school.

He quickly learned to regret his hubris.

On the first night in his brand new home, Arthur woke up regularly, mildly disturbed by the sounds of spinning washing machines and what almost sounded like a series of frustrated grunts coming from the pipes. But he figured those were the consequences of moving into a centuries-old building, and he'd eventually find a way to get used to it.

Arthur's first day at Camelot University had been a success. He was ahead of his homework even though he'd barely put in the work: he was clever and hardworking, and so far things went swimmingly.

It wasn't until he was back in his flat, mind registering the sounds coming from the basement that his imagination started to wander.

Arthur had never been a paranoid sort, and it took a lot more than an offhand ghost story to push his buttons.

No amount of stress had ever caused Arthur to hallucinate, so that was another positive sign.

At least it would've been, if Arthur didn't spend yet another night wide awake, listening to the desperate noises coming from the room below - a cellar used solely for laundry purposes, from what he'd been told - and unease started to follow him wherever he went.

After a number of good days ending in sheer horror and insomnia, Arthur began to wonder if maybe he hadn't been ignoring a number of important warnings.

Here were the essentials he knew to be true: a young man had occupied his room. He'd committed suicide somewhere in the flat. This former tenant had been a poor kid on a scholarship. The costs for the flat had skyrocketed since its last inhabitant's timely demise.

But even without grabbing the estate agent by his collar and shaking the man until he either confessed or became severely concussed (a prospect that struck Arthur as ever more tempting as the nights passed), he'd begun to suspect certain other things: one, that the mysterious location of the suicide was most likely the basement; two, that the act had carried enough desperation to trap the person's essence there indefinitely.

No matter how hard Arthur tried to resist the possibility of the supernatural, there was a good chance that this flat was still infused with tendrils of its previous owner's presence, and he couldn't very well wake up in a cold sweat every night, terrified on behalf of an unknown and deeply struggling man his own age.

Whatever kind of presence Arthur felt, it seemed real enough, and Arthur was by now fully convinced the student had taken his life in the laundry room. But it was more than that: the sounds of sheer dismay coming from said room made him suspect it may not have been a suicide at all. The moment he stumbled upon this epiphany, Arthur made sure to bribe his classmates into doing his laundry for him. Let them think he was a spoilt, overprivileged child who couldn't do a single basic household chore: anything to keep him away from the basement that now constantly haunted his dreams.

Arthur went down to the library every day, hoping to dig up more clues as to who was currently haunting his basement. No one seemed tempted to tell him much of anything, and he'd been asking around. It wasn't until he decided to use his natural charm and tell the current library assistant that he was looking for his long-lost sibling that he got the chance to peruse a massive file of previous tenants. 

File in hand, Arthur scanned down the list intended only for his eyes, when he zoned in on the name of _Merlin Emrys, student 2012-2014_. At which point he managed to put a name to an unfamiliar but extremely vocal face.

Merlin's official photo showed a harmless looking lad, big-eared and earnestly-smiling, plus confirmation that he'd landed a scholarship after years of hard, unappreciated work. This Merlin had spent most of his life doing the kind of work most people refused: cleaning an array of shady places from motels to questionable burger joints. He'd been blessed with his scholarship, but it seemed that's where the blessings ended: in order to keep his flat, Merlin had to make his way from school towards his job destinations and often didn't get home until midnight. 

What kind of life must that be, Arthur wondered. He'd always been successful and well-off, and though he knew he was clever and dedicated, he was also aware that his name had opened a whole bunch of doors for him.

This Merlin seemed to have nothing but a single shred of hope: his great-uncle Gaius, in the Magical History department. Having no magic of his own, Arthur saw little point in taking the class, but he knew of Gaius. Everyone on campus knew of Gaius: he was a long-haired old man whose teaching methods bordered on the eccentric. Students with magical powers revered him, the rest thought of him as the resident loveable old kook.

Arthur was well aware that having an in with Gaius meant having basically no in at all. Merlin being related to this strange old man might not necessarily have worked in his favour. But clearly he was a magnificent student, sailing through most of his courses as if it wasn't a big deal at all (and for just one very ungenerous moment Arthur wondered if Merlin had used magic to perfect his grades, and if it was the pressure of lying that eventually killed him, but he quickly dismissed that theory when he remembered just how strict the university's guidelines were; they'd have seen right through an attempt at illusion).

Despite the young man's exceptional grades, the file also listed his date of death at 2014. Nothing about Merlin's accomplishments made it likely that he'd killed himself before cementing his status as an underprivileged protégé, but the cause of death was certainly referred to as "self-inflicted".

"What happened to you, Merlin?" Arthur mumbled, more focused on this strange man's demise than any of the classes he ought to have been focusing on.

Other than his death date, Merlin's file didn't afford Arthur a single clue as to what happened to make his former roommate disappear so soon. And whether or not it was truly a matter of suicide.

***

Another night, another shout of despair, and Arthur had jumped out of bed before he fully realised what he was doing.

Arthur began to claw at the floorboards of his room, driven by some kind of subconscious instinct. Something in his hindbrain had told him to avoid the regular entrance to the laundry room and attack his floors instead. After a grueling amount of work, he'd managed to create an alternative entrance big enough to squeeze himself into. Switching his phone to Night Shift Mode, he made his way down the basement steps that appeared directly in the spot he'd been clawing at, and he found himself only a couple of metres ahead of the laundry room.

As he went further and further down steps he knew, _knew_ this was where it all happened.

He peered into the room, hoping to feel something other than the sheer desperation that froze him on the spot.

_Come on, buddy, don't just show me the where, tell me the why and how._

For a moment there his eyelids had started to droop, and his mind began to wander.

From the corner of his eye, something moved: since the flat was right next to Camelot Forest, he assumed was a large tree branch moving to-and-fro. It wasn't until his eyes adjusted to the darkness that he noticed the prone skeleton, swaying from a noose. That's when Arthur began to scream and scream and _scream_.

He was so close... _so close_...

***

"MERLIN!" Arthur's vocal cords were battered beyond recognition and the unfamiliar face peering back down at him was full of pity.

"Merlin, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have let you-"

The person hovering over him hushed him, then turned towards another presence in the room.

"I'm so very sorry, Mr. Pendragon. We truly hoped your boy wouldn't be as susceptible to magic as you thought he'd be," said a voice from the shadows.

"No matter," spoke a man he knew, _knew intimately goddamnit_ , voice laced with regret but overall just wholly resigned. "You did your best, and it seems that he hasn't the stones required to make this mission worthwhile. Let him sleep it off, and make sure that come tomorrow morning, he has no memory of what took place here."

The last thing Arthur recalled was a pair of bright blue eyes staring into his own, not so much a solid presence as it was a suggestion of a person, holding out a warm soft hand for Arthur to clutch. Just before Arthur went under, the two voices still arguing in the background, a gentler, closer voice whispered, "You're fine, nothing else matters; you're fine, _I'm fine, and one day you'll come to me._ ".


	2. Dr. Aredian Kills With Joy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A delusional doctor wanting to control people with magical abilities.
> 
> A planned execution.
> 
> A warlock whose strengths reach far beyond what the doctor's trusty computers have registered.
> 
> What could go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)

**Dr. Aredian Kills With Joy**

The rooms were clean; the Warlocks were neatly lined up. Their backs were pressed up against the wall and their faces were alight with terror.

So far, so good, thought Dr. Aredian.

These abominations to civilised society had been carefully stacked into the corner of the room, their magical abilities suppressed, eyes burning with pointless indignation.

They were beasts. Vicious cattle, first and foremost, and they needed to be _ended_.

He'd already introduced a single witch to his chamber of horrors, curious to see what the presence of a woman (and a gloriously curvy one at that) would do to the group's dynamics. The Lady Helen had been subjected to the utmost level of pain and torture as the manufactured flames licked at her treacherous body, her screams of pain and rage a balm to Dr. Aredian's blessedly uncorrupted soul.

Instead of throwing themselves onto her like men starving for water in a desert, the warlocks had curiously formed a circle of protection around her. To a man like Aredian, who thrived on watching his subhuman prisoners descend into chaos, that simply would not do.

Cathing a witch and/or warlock wasn't much of a challenge, as far as Dr. Aredian was concerned. He didn't gain his reputation as 'The Witchfinder" for nothing. The Magicals's strength was no match for his own observant eye, and he made sure to register his subjects's use of magic, based on strength and intelligence. There was no chance he'd allow a Magical to get the better of him. Some needed more subduing than others, but that was hardly a problem: they possessed the sedatives necessary.

It wasn't until the execution of Nimueh that Dr. Aredian began to lose his grip.

The day had started off as one of many: captured warlocks and witches screaming in anger in the background as Dr. Aredian paced back-and-forth across the cages, a sneer etched onto his features. _Let them grovel_ , he thought. _They deserve fucking nothing._

Just before her moment of execution, the witch Nimueh exchanged a few words with the warlock Emrys. It mattered very little, as far as Aredian was concerned. Neither of these wannabe-revolutionaries possessed the kind of power necessary to start a war.

He carefully selected the weaponry designed to chip away at Nimueh's defence, her power. The witch screamed in pain, while Emrys simply watched it happen. The more time passed, the more Nimueh's screeches of horror intensified. Dr. Aredian was by now fully focused on his subject of torture and oblivious to his youngest, most observant captive: _Emrys_.

Nimueh's body began to boil and her screams of helplessness were fading into the background when a sudden flash of blinding light disturbed Dr. Aredian's vision altogether: the light went from temporarily obnoxious to blinding him altogether.

Fully aware of the magical creatures screeching and begging for help in the background, Dr. Aredian stumbled knee-first unto the floor, hands pressed to his head and body begging for mercy.

He got none.

The previously-shackled Magic users escaped their fate, and his group of former prisoners descended upon him and locked him in a tight, inescapable grip.

Emrys. Goddamned bloody _Emrys_ , who'd been spoken of in glowing terms but turned out - as far as Dr. Aredian could tell - just some scrawny, overglorified sack of absolute nothing. None of his computers and gadgets had shown any sign of above-level magical ability, and like an idiot, he'd trusted his technology over his knowledge of warlocks and the way they manipulated and deceived.

Dr. Aredian's vision was swimming, but he knew his former subdued prisoners were looking at Emrys to decide their next move. To his horror, he made out Emrys's silhouette, giving his loyal subjects a firm nod before they dragged their prisoner out of the labs and into the woods to give him his final sendoff.

(Over the course of 6 hours, several warm-hearted humans would stop their cars in order to help the wretched, flayed old man gasping on the side of the road, but their attempts would be in vain. Dr. Aredian was no more).

Emrys had won. Many a magically-inclined creature was now free to do as they please, and Aredian's influence served merely as a historical tale of caution.

For a while, Emrys struggled with the consequences of taking a life, even one that begged to be taken out for good, and he wandered the woods, having told his worshipers to leave him alone and just revel in living yet another day.

His conflicted walk took several weeks, and he only occasionally turned to treat himself to some much-needed water.

The rhythm of his thoughts never changed: _I had to - I didn't want to - I had to_ until his mind began to spin and his body, so deprived of nourishment besides the odd sip of water, broke down and threatened to give up.

***

Emrys awoke to a gentle hand dabbing his forehead with a cold, wet flannel. 

"Whatever happened to you, we'll make it right. Just keep quiet and let me do this for you."

It was easy to allow himself to slip back into unconsciousness. The deep voice and the careful ministrations lulled him into a deep sleep.

Only later did he begin to register the sounds of a walkie-talkie in the background, the tinny voice from the other side screaming to bring in the prisoner who'd sentenced Dr. Aredian to death.

He recognised that voice. It was Uther Pendragon, the very man who'd allowed Aredian's little experiments to cross the line. He needed to get out of here, and do it fast.

It didn't hit him just how badly he needed to flee until the voice on the walkie-talkie gentled and said, "You're my only son, Arthur. I trust you with this. Find the warlock and rid us of this mess we're in. He is our last living witness."

Merlin barely had time to mourn the sorcerers whose efforts to escape had been in vain. He shot up in a cold sweat, suddenly very aware of how vulnerable he'd allowed himself to become.

Across the room a face looked into his. Wide blue eyes and strong bone structure framed by golden blond hair. The eyes were sympathetic but for the determined glint.

"Well, Emrys," sighed his captor. "Hope you know how to keep still and fold yourself into suitcases, because this is going to be a bitch of an escape."

 

***


	3. No Hide, No Seek

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A group of friends decide to explore haunted grounds for the sake of a chuckle.
> 
> The Pendragon siblings hope to learn more about their bloody-minded ancestors, still rumoured to walk this place.
> 
> Their young warlock friend is caught in the middle, and finds out the price to pay is a big one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :(

**NO HIDE, NO SEEK**

 

The night had started off wonderfully. A large group of friends had been invited to a stunning set of ruins that had once belonged to the prestigious Pendragon family.

According to Arthur and Morgana, last living heirs to the dynasty, their family's rich history (literally rich; there were very few things on earth the Pendragons could not afford) had started out right here, in this macabre ghost town. The current Pendragons were known only as a highly successful, old-money family, but their ancestors had been downright savage and out for blood, a fact in which Arthur and Morgana both appeared to revel. In order to secure the Pendragon Trust, many a family member had been mercilessly betrayed, often to the point of a brutal death.

The group's unofficial teams were divided in two: those hoping to spot a ghost, perhaps even a bloody battle reenacted right before their eyes (Gwaine, Percival, Morgana and Mordred), versus those who appreciated the ancient folklore but presumed to steer clear of vengeful spirits (Gwen, Lancelot, Arthur, and Freya).

Merlin himself was of two minds. He'd love to be able to connect to a wayward spirit, but he had no desire to disrupt a place of peace and quiet in order to satisfy his cravings. As far as Merlin was concerned, he wouldn't bother to communicate with a spirit unless it insisted on communicating with him. Angry, frustrated spirits made for very poor bedfellows indeed. If he encountered a spirit that wished for him to leave bloody well alone, he would listen. If only the rest of his team would show the same level of empathy...

The whole thing struck Merlin as being very disrespectful. After only a handful of experiences with the beyond, he had no idea if spirits wholly occupied this world (seemed a waste of time, as far as he was concerned), but just in case these ghostly creatures were aware of the live beings trying to contact them and encroach upon their territory, he felt compelled to apologise for the rudeness of his crew.

Merlin murmured a silent spell of respect and comfort, figuring the ancient spirits wouldn't be very excited at the prospect of answering mundane questions posed by ignorant students awaiting a thrill. He did his best to send out a message of love and warmth, praying their otherworldly hosts would grant their spectators peace.

_Please forgive them; they know not what they do. They're young, they're ignorant: allow me to make you understand._

Thus went Merlin's silent prayer. He experienced a previously dormant warmth spreading through his bones; a sign that, thankfully, the spirits had decided to ignore the nosy tourists in favour of concentrating on the young, powerful warlock currently in their midsts.

The original group, excluding Merlin, succeeded at escaping their fate.

In the meantime, Merlin's connection to his fellow wayward souls strengthened.

"I beg you not to harm them," went the next message he sent into the world beyond. "None of them know exactly what they're dealing with, and if you so choose to spare them, I will return to you four times a year: I will be there for every season, and make sure to show my appreciation with an offering of blood, as well as a shield protecting you from the outside world. Leave my friends alone and I will promise you this."

And though Merlin's sacrifice had been received with arms wide open, he made sure to keep an eye on the rest of the group.

"What are you doing over there, whispering like a massive creeper? You trying to sell your soul to the dead?"

Gwaine was looking at him suspiciously, which made the rest of the group turn and frown.

Merlin shrugged. "Just a couple of silent prayers to ward off angry spirits." It didn't come out as casually as he'd hoped, but it seemed to placate the group.

Arthur moved closer and slung his arm across his shoulder. "I don't believe in any of this, but I'd still rather you didn't talk to whatever's down here. Doubt they have anything good to tell you."

Merlin flashed him a watery smile and wondered how much longer he would get to spend time in Arthur's company. Could be a year, could be less, depending on what this place demanded of him.

He held tightly onto Arthur and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

"What was that for?"

"Just glad you're here."

Merlin spoke a silent prayer for each and every one of these living, vibrant people. They wouldn't remember a damned thing towards the end, but Merlin would know. He would know the sacrifice he made in order to spare them, and the limited time that awaited him.


	4. The Pumpkin Folk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin's never been crazy about Halloween. As a powerful young warlock, his connection to the spirit world gets too strong this time of year.
> 
> Therefore, his boyfriend Arthur decides to take him out on a romantic camping trip in the woods, hoping that nature and isolation will set Merlin's restless mind at ease.
> 
> Which might've worked if they weren't in the exact spot where the Pumpkin People had their own special celebration...
> 
> [A wholesome spoopy tale for my Hallowusses out there; you deserve some cuteness, too.]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) :) :)

**The Pumpkin Folk**

Arthur Pendragon adored Halloween. The costumes, the haunted houses, the decorative pumpkins, the buffet of candy apples and spooky-themed marshmallows and cupcakes.

His boyfriend was another story entirely.

Seemed that the downside of dating a powerful warlock was having one's all-time favourite holiday ruined by fears and superstitions so strong they brought on the odd anxiety attack.

Every Halloween, Merlin was plagued by lost souls, and they weren't the kindly, Casper type ghosties. Merlin's attackers were witches and wizards targeted by brutal and ignorant villagers wishing to put them to death once and for all.

It was only on their third celebration of the holiday that Merlin burst into panicked tears and told Arthur he couldn't do this anymore.

Merlin had tried to break up, and Arthur just could not have that, so they'd spent the rest of the night in Arthur's flat talking things out. Seemed that Merlin's sensitivity to the execution of his ancestors was never stronger than it was on the night of Halloween, and Arthur had chosen to ignore the waves of discomfort coming off of his boyfriend just to enjoy his favourite holiday.

Well, no more, Arthur decided. This time, he was going to take Merlin far away from the things that troubled him so.

***

"Arthur... You know how I feel about this time of year."

It was officially October 31st, and Merlin had not taken the invitation well.

Arthur just grinned.

"That's exactly why I've decided to take you out tonight. There's an isolated spot in the middle of the woods and Morgana told me there's _zero_ magical activity there. Just a place where we can sit around and roast various foods across the campfire and tell stupid ghost stories, the fun kind, and have our own Halloween celebration far away from the horrors of everyday life."

Merlin's face lit up. "A problem-free Halloween? Are you sure?"

"Morgana's never been wrong about this kind of thing. Tonight, Merlin, it's just you, me, candy, and the terrible ghost stories we tell."

***

The woods were beautiful and crisp, the smell of nature firmly embedded in their nostrils.

Merlin let himself drop into a pile of leaves. "Gods, Arthur, this is... It's _the best_."

Arthur's cheeks burned. He'd tried so hard to find Merlin a place where he could be free of the screams of tortured souls and the sense of obligation to save people who'd died many centuries before; it meant the world to have found a place where Merlin could finally relax and be his regular, immature, free-spirited self this time of year.

Having gathered a significant amount of brances, Arthur started the fire.

"It's kind of sexy, you know, the way you know how to make a fire out of nowhere."

Arthur snorted. "Aren't you the one who's always bitching at me to be less of a caveman, _Mer_ lin?"

"I take it back. Seeing you like this, you can whack me over the head with any club, I'll let it happen."

"How about you show your appreciation by roasting your veggies, which is why I've started this bloody fire to begin with."

***

Roasting veggies had quickly turned into roasting marshmallows, candy, muffins and all sorts of diabetic nightmare foods. They ate, laughed, and exchanged the stupidest ghost stories they could think of, and Arthur reveled in how unburdened Merlin seemed.

Finally, thanks to his perceptive sister, he'd found a way to celebrate Halloween without sending Merlin on a downwards spiral.

Merlin was in the middle of a story about a child who was born with a face of clay and could only venture out on Halloween, when they heard the noise.

 _For fuck's sake, Morgana,_ Arthur thought as the sounds of chanting and the glow of a bonfire distracted both men from their cosy night out.

Merlin shuddered. "Arthur... That sounds like a ritual."

Arthur growled and got up to check it out. "Can't be."

He stalked over towards the source of the noise and found himself frozen solid.

His viewpoint didn't give him much, but here's what he knew for sure: there was a large bonfire, and dancing around it and humming were a group of people with pumpkins for heads.

***

Arthur went back down to where Merlin sat, shivering.

"Good news and bad news. The good news is, they've no idea we're here. Bad news? They're... pumpkin people."

Merlin stared. "I'm going to choose to have misheard you."

Arthur winced and started putting out the fire.

"I'm sorry, Merlin. Here I was trying to get you away from all things crazy, and somehow-"

"EVENING, STRANGERS."

One of the pumpkin people had made its way into their camp.

***

Merlin's eyes were awash with gold before Arthur even knew how to react.

"Get away from us if you know what's good for you."

That's when the pumpkin man did something curious: he removed his head.

Underneath it was a lad about their age, with beautiful hair and a lovely face.

"Those are some wicked contacts, mate! Sorry to barge in on your party, thought it was just us out here."

Arthur and Merlin stared in disbelief. "You're... You aren't actually... What?"

The man, and that's all he was, made his way over to their campfire, pumpkin wedged under his arm, and helped himself to a marshmallow.

"Sorry, pals, I'll reimburse you if I can, but I'm starving. None of these tossers thought to bring provisions other than beer."

"No offence, but just who the bloody hell are you?"

At that, the man seemed to be aware of his own rudeness.

"Sorry 'bout that, mate. Name's Gwaine. We're out here having ourselves a pumpkin party. Care to join us?"

Both Arthur and Merlin stared at each other before erupting in a fit of laughter.

"Nah, this is just between the two of us. But you take this," Arthur tossed Gwaine the half-full bag of marshmallows. "And drink responsibly!"

Gwaine grinned his gratitude and firmly planted the pumpkin back onto his head before running off, yelling "GOT PROVISIONS!"

Arthur and Merlin collapsed against each other in giggles.

"I hate this stupid fucking holiday, Arthur."

"Next year, we're locking ourselves in with a tree and pretend it's Christmas."


	5. Fighter's Spirit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the evening of Halloween, when parties are in full swing, a series of unprovoked fights erupt in the city of Camelot.
> 
> Seems a wave of meaningless violence has taken over the city's formerly-peaceful residents.
> 
> A small group of friends find themselves stuck inside a pub and try to work out a game plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) meets :(
> 
> (open ending)

**FIGHTER'S SPIRIT**

Spirits were high at The Rising Sun tonight.

It was October 31st and the Halloween spirit was alive and well. Men and women dressed as various creatures, varying from Freddy Krueger to a simple white sheet covered in one-word text messages ("ghosting") to sexy turnip - everyone had come out to celebrate the spookiest night of the year, adult-style.

Bartender Gwaine Greene had dressed simply enough: a white tunic, sandals and a crown of thorns, embracing his resemblance to the Western interpretation of Jesus Christ. He'd even punctured both hands with a set of knitting needles to create a realistic representation of stigmata.

Not too much of a thought-out plan, considering it hurt like merry fuck whenever he needed to pour drinks, but he'd power through it.

Merlin, Arthur, Morgana, Gwen and Lancelot had booked a table in advance. Truthfully, it had been Arthur who'd done so, much to the mockery of his closest mates, but he insisted that there'd be no room at the inn if they had just casually shown up. He'd guessed correctly, and anyone who knew Arthur Pendragon at all knew that being proven right turned the man into a wanker of colossal proportions.

It was Merlin who, right this minute, was taking his best friend to task on the matter. "Congratulations, you're right, the rest of us lowly peasants made a mistake not to trust you, now please could you shut up long enough to order us a round of shots?"

Arthur, who never lacked for a snippy retort when it came to Merlin, was rendered helpless in the face of Merlin's chosen costume. He'd decked himself out in latex that appeared to have molded itself to his slender, broad-shouldered body, and the combination of porcelain skin and smokey eye drew everyone's attention to his giant blue eyes and razor-sharp cheekbones.

Then there was the matter of the wings. They were elaborate and realistic and black as night, and only served to make Merlin look more otherworldly than he usually did.

Merlin had gone as the Angel of Death, and every bit of Arthur's skimpy gladiator outfit was begging him to lay off the inconvenient erections until the whole group was too drunk to care.

Trying to distract himself from the serving of beauty handed to him on a silver platter, Arthur chose instead to focus on his sister, boner-killer supreme, whose attempt at recreating Nancy from 'The Craft' made her look far more terrifying than the character in question, which was no small feat.

"Morgana, be a dear and get our guests some much-needed drinks."

The gleam in Morgana's eye was positively wicked as she stared down her half-brother.

"Of course, Arthur. Wouldn't want you to _get up_ at an inconvenient time."

Arthur was going to destroy her if it was the last thing he did.

Luckily, the rest of the table remained oblivious. Merlin was going to town on a cocktail that looked downright lethal (bright green _and_ smoking), and Gwen and Lance were far too caught up in each other to register any sibling rivalry. Theirs was a couple's costume, _of bloody course_ , but Arthur had to admit they'd hit it out of the park this time: they'd gone as Donald Trump and Vladimir Putin, and made out at every available opportunity.

They were waiting for Morgana to return with their drinks, when suddenly someone burst through the doors and the bar fell silent.

The man standing in their midst could've easily won for most convincing Halloween costume: his face was pale, his body quivered, and blood seeped through his chattering teeth.

What gave the bar patrons pause was the way he bent at the waist and spewed forth a truly horrific amount of bloody vomit, seemingly containing some very realistic-looking chunks of internal organs.

In a shaky but loud voice he announced, "It's over. It's all over." before collapsing onto the floor, seizing for a bit then finally ceasing to move altogether.

***

When the unknown man hadn't moved for a solid minute, it was Gwaine who sprinted towards him from behind the bar and pressed his fingers to the man's neck and wrist.

Any other time it would've been hilarious to see Jesus crouching over a man in need, but this seemed altogether more serious, which was only confirmed when Gwaine looked up, his usually mirthful eyes awash with panic.

"He's gone."

The whole pub erupted in terror, people screaming to call the police, or an ambulance, or strings of nonsensical exclamations of horror.

They were just attempting to collect themselves, a helpful bystander having whipped out her phone to call an ambulance, when a loud bang from outside the pub took them by surprise.

Another person came running in, her face awash with tears and smeared mascara, and she screamed, "Lock the doors! Please, please, if you want to live you _have_ to lock the doors!"

Gwaine made his way over to the woman, trying to calm her down, but it was no use. She simply kept repeating, "It's all gone to shit, you have to lock the doors. They're killing each other. All of them. So many dead. LOCK THE FUCKING DOORS!"

Not one to take any unnecessary risks, Gwaine did as he was asked, then took advantage of the hushed veil of terror that had settled over the bar.

"Ladies and gentlemen, it seems we've some kind of situation on our hands. I advice you not to panic, as it will only lead to stampedes and injury. For now, we are under quaraintine and will remain so until we get answers. Percival, if you wouldn't mind turning off the lights."

The pub's giant bouncer made haste to turn off the lights, even pulling out the plug connecting the jukebox.

Sounds of chaos continued to emerge from outside, and the patrons of the Rising Sun were dumbstruck with terror. The world outside exuded sounds of bloody massacre, and there were only two people who could answer their questions: a bloodied, traumatised woman and a dead man.

***

Gwen and Lance had wrapped themselves around each other, and Arthur had put an arm around both Merlin and Morgana, keeping them close.

"What's happening, here?" Morgana's voice was so frail and brittle, and Arthur never wanted his headstrong queen bitch of a sister sound like that, ever again.

"It'll be alright. Probably just some hooligans trying to take advantage, the police will get them any minute now."

Arthur had no idea what he was talking about; he just wanted to put his mates at ease. But he, too, was bothered by the stranger vomiting blood and the terrified woman insisting they lock themselves in.

None of them had any idea what they were in for.

***

30 minutes after the pub closed down, there was still no sign of an ambulance for the poor fellow who clearly would've benefited more from a hearse.

The noises outside had increased, however, and the panic inside the pub was palpable.

The young woman who'd rushed in crying had finally managed to catch her breath, and everyone listened closely as Gwaine tried to coax some answers out of her.

"It was all so quiet and uneventful, I never thought I'd- There were no signs that things would end up the way they did," the woman sobbed. "One minute we're having fun, and then the next, a fight broke out."

She heaved a few panicked breaths, before she continued. "Fights happen at clubs, so we ignored it. But then... Then it seemed like... It was pandemonium! Everyone began fighting and it made no sense, we were all so mellow all night, but once the fights broke out it seemed like everyone was ready to go to war."

Between sobs, she continued, "At first it just seemed like a strange, chain reaction, but then some of my friends started getting into it. We're pacifists, for fuck's sake, we've attended protests against unsolicited acts of violence. I know I sound biased, but I promise you: no one in my inner circle would _ever_ willingly participate in a fight unless it was to save their lives."

Gwaine gently rubbed her back. "So what happened then, sweetheart?"

"There was this... explosion of violence. Suddenly all of the nicest, gentlest people I'd ever met, from my own group of friends to the cleaning ladies, they just turned... rabid. Their eyes reddened and they became hell-bent on destroying each other."

A voice from the back of the room piped up, "For fuck's sake, it's a club, fights happen!"

The woman refused to be dismissed. "Well, sir, unless you've had multiple limbs and organs thrown at you, please accept that you have no idea what you're on about."

The silence that came over the pub was barely audible through the shouts, explosions and screams from outside.

Gwaine held up his hands. "Here's what we're going to do. We're going to lay low and stay quiet for as long as this madness continues. I don't know if we're dealing with a terrorist attack or an airborne virus turning everyone into raving psychopaths, but I do know that as the owner of this place I am responsible for each and everyone of you. Keep safe, keep calm, and most importantly: keep silent."

***

After 30 minutes of silence and cowering and listening to the noises coming from outside, Arthur's cabin fever had reached an all time high.

He'd never been one to sit by and let things happen; whether that meant his teammates lording their athletic prowess over those they considered 'lessers', or friends who liked him up until the moment he told them he liked blokes, or social climbers leeching onto his little sister in hopes of gaining notoriety.

Arthur was a man of action, and all of this inaction was driving him up the wall.

"I've got an idea," he whispered to his group of friends. "I'm gonna take the emergency exit and see what all of this is about."

Gwen and Lancelot had frozen solid, a truly memorable picture of Trump and Putin locked in a panicked embrace, Morgana was gearing up to shout at him in the quietest way possible, and Merlin... Merlin was looking contemplative.

The latter was in fact the only one to speak after Arthur's admittedly ludicrous and suicidal proposal. "Fine, but only if you take me with you."

All eyes turned to Merlin, who looked determined and confident in his Angel of Death get-up.

"I know you're essentially lodged up my brother's arse and all," hissed Morgana. "But surely out of the two of you, you're not thick enough to think this is a good idea."

Arthur scowled, but Merlin paid him no heed. "Morgana, look... This is probably a bad idea. Scratch that, it's a terrible idea and we're putting our lives at risk, but bear with me here: the world's going to shit, far as we know, and we have no idea what we're dealing with here. Arthur's got strength on his side, and I've got the brains of this operation. Together we may just figure out what's going on out there, as well as how to stop it."

Under normal circumstances, Arthur would've eviscerated Merlin for implying he was nothing more than a hulking lump of meat, but there was something about the world going to Hell in a handbasket that made him reluctant to argue.

Morgana had always been more susceptible to Merlin, something that drove Arthur insane at the best of times. She dusted off her costume and nodded solemnly. 

"Very well. But only if you take me with you. If this is the end of the world as we know it, there's no way two men are going to be able to fix things."

Arthur groaned, but Merlin just smiled that wicked, heart-shattering smile of his. "Excellent! Glad to have you on board, Morgana."

At this, Trump and Putin unglued each other from their internationally treacherous embrace.

"I WANT IN!" said Gwen and Lancelot simultaneously.

And really, who could argue with a pair of unofficial dictators (but totally dictators) in times of crisis?

***

While the rest of the patrons were caught up in silent panic and fear, and Gwaine and Percival were trying to calm down the young woman who'd caused them to lock the place down, the 5-headed group of costumed friends snuck out via the emergency exit.

They were standing in a back alley, cold and terrified, when Arthur decided it was time to dole out a couple of instructions.

"Now, we've no idea what we're up against," he whispered. "But clearly, something terrible is happening. Here's what we know: one man's dead, one woman's scared to death, and according to this woman, many more could meet the fate of our deceased patron."

A collective shudder went through the group, but Arthur soldiered on.

"Fights are breaking out all over the place, as evidenced by that lady's recap as well as the noises coming from outside. Allow me to go conspiracy theorist for a moment here and suggest that it's to do with some military, airborne experiment."

Multiple people groaned and Arthur just growled at them.

"Don't you think I know how dumb this sounds?! For fuck's sake, of course I do, but look at the basics here: average, peaceful human beings start tearing each other to shreds, and the only commonality is they were outside at a certain time of night. And then suddenly, without provocation, these gentle, regular people start to tear into each other for no reason other than _they bloody well can_."

Arthur leveled a condescending look at his party. "Sounds to me like a change in atmosphere. Which, more often than not, is something military-based."

It was Merlin of all people who nodded in agreement.

"Arthur's right: whenever a widescale level of insanity occurs, it's down to one of two things: a footie match, or a government-operated experiment. And I don't recall any matches being on tonight."

Much to Arthur's frustration, it was always Merlin whose opinions and advice were acknowledged by the rest of the group, but they had no time to react because a deafening crash occured just half a mile from where they'd been standing.

Pressing themselves up against the nearest wall, the group observed two men locked in a terrifiying battle.

One of the men seized the other by the throat, while the other man brandished a scalpel and jammed it into his partner's neck. The other man was left gulping for air, a steady stream of blood spurting from the artery his partner had managed to hit, and the stab-happy menace took off immediately, not even waiting around to watch his victim succumb.

"JESUS CHRIST!" Gwen yelped, her terror made slightly humourous by the elaborate Trump wig still firmly in place on her head.

"Never you mind, Donald," panted Morgana. "The next person getting up in our business is getting a firm boot to the throat."

Morgana lifted one of her Doc Marten-clad feet, and truly any boot that solid and heavy should come with a warning.

Arthur turned to Merlin, intending to make sure his best mate was alright, but it seemed he shouldn't have bothered: Merlin's posture was ramrod straight, his face determined as well as furious, and his decorative wings could not have looked more real.

"Merlin? Alright?"

When Merlin's eyes met Arthur's, Arthur felt that familiar spark, the kind they'd exchanged for years now that he could never quite explain.

"All's good on my end. What about you, Russell Crowe?"

Arthur groaned.

"I am _a gladiator_ , _Mer_ lin, not THE GLADIATOR. And I was only asking because your eyeliner is smudged and I assumed you'd been crying like the frightened rabbit of a human being that you are."

"Well, then, how about you keep poking imaginary tigers with sticks while I do my best to keep an eye out for the truly psychotic human beings wandering the streets right now?"

At this, Morgana let out a whistle sharp enough to make a dog haemorrhage.

"Gentleladies! As exciting as your foreplay is to all of us, perhaps we should reduce our banter in order to look into ways to deal with the fact that the whole city's gone to shit."

Both Arthur and Merlin growled in protest, but Morgana was having none of it. She simply held up a hand in the universal sign of "Shut the fuck up or deal with my wrath for eternity."

"People are out here tearing each other to pieces, this we know. Perhaps it's a military experiment gone wrong, perhaps it's a brand new virus, or, hell... perhaps Satan is real and has laid claim to our town for good. Who the bloody hell cares at this point? All we know for sure is that things are looking very bad indeed, and we can either fight or allow ourselves to become victims here. And I, for one, am no damn victim. So who's with me?"

One by one, the remaining members of the group raised their hands meekly.

Morgana's smirk was a nightmare as well as a work of art.

"Very well, then. Looks like it's about time we went out there and fought."

***

The streets of Camelot were a mess.

On every corner of every street, people were engaged in brutal fights, their vocabularies reduced to grunts, growls and screams.

Arthur recognised a tight-knit set of roommates from the flat above his, engaged in a fight to the death. He noticed Gwen's distressed gulp as she witnessed her happily married neighbours locked in a struggle that neither of them were likely to survive.

Once upon a time, Camelot had been a place of peace, nature and solitude. Tonight, it was a war zone, an expanding blood bath, home only to fighters and psychopaths.

Occasionally the group was forced to fight off a confrontational person spoiling for a fight, which is where Arthur's gladiator tools came in handy, but for the most part they succeeded in reaching Arthur and Morgana's shared flat.

The doorman was nowhere to be seen, at least not until Merlin leaned over the desk and whirled back around to the rest of the group, eyes wide with terror.

"You don't want to see..."

After the night they'd had, no one complained. They took the elevators upstairs to Arthur and Morgana's place and locked themselves in.

Inside this tidy, large apartment building, the terrors occurring outside seemed ever so far away.

They made themselves comfortable on the living room sofas, not bothering to switch on a single light, and took their time catching their breath.

Gwen and Lancelot, kind souls that they were, were both a little worse for the wear, and Morgana had situated herself between them, pressing their faces into her neck and murmuring words of encouragement into their ears.

Which left Arthur and Merlin, leaning against the kitchen's marble countertops, unsettled and displaced.

"Alright?" was all Arthur could think to ask his long-term best friend, the love of his life.

"Nothing a cheese platter couldn't solve," nodded Merlin, and Arthur was struck once more by the fact that he loved this ridiculous man more than anything. But that, he decided, would have to wait for another, less apocalyptic sort of day.

"I think I have some leftover camembert and cheddar lying around somewhere. The crackers are revoltingly stale, though."

Merlin just shrugged, smiling widely at Arthur.

"This might be our last night alive. I'll take the stale crackers."


	6. Plagued By Terror

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Black Death is making its way through Europe, threatening to wreck everything in its wake.
> 
> A dedicated Plague Doctor and his untrained assistant are summoned to the House Pendragon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :( meets :)

**PLAGUED BY TERROR**

The Plague Doctor beckoned forth his young apprentice.

"I hear this one's a particularly gruesome ordeal. I do hope you have the stomach for it, but if not, fight your instinct to vomit. It wouldn't do to remove your mask on these here premises."

***

It was November 3rd, 1348.

A mystery killer lurked in the shadows, eager to strike and take down as many as humanly possible.

Had this killer been one of flesh and blood, he'd have been dealt with. But who was prepared to string up an infestation of rats, or shoot down the ships bringing these infected creatures into the country? By the time the source of the wretched disease was located, it was already too late.

People were dying by the hundreds, at first, and those were the good days. Rats were being burned by the masses in hopes of ridding the country of this dreadful curse. And still none of it mattered. There were more of them, lurking, not unlike cockroaches, and if those blasted beasts weren't the ones infecting innocent citizens, it was the citizens themselves. 

Before the symptoms began to manifest, the sick enjoyed a few days blessedly unaware of the disease eating away at their insides. These ignorants shook hands, kissed, and embraced their comrades, never knowing they'd just condemned their close ones to certain death.

By the time reliable information became more widespread, it was already too late. The whole of Camelot, once a large and proud city, was awash with the blood, terror, and screams of the deathly ill trapped inside their houses.

Too many doors were marked with bright red X-es, informing the diminished few healthy survivors still out there to steer clear of these infected houses of horror.

It was a difficult thing to accept for any man who had a heart, listening to the moans of the dying, helpless and desperate.

It was then that Gaius, revered Plague Doctor around these parts, caught sight of a young lad whipping his head back and forth across the houses that broadcasted the loudest, most tortured screams.

The young lad, who couldn't have been more than 17, looked so anguished, tears cascading down his face as he yelled, seemingly into the void, "THIS IS NOT THE END! No matter what it is you're feeling right now, you will either live to see another day or die and return to your loved ones on the other side! Your hurt this very moment is _nothing_ compared to the joy that awaits you, brothers and sisters. Do not lose hope, because hope has not lost sight of you."

Gaius was utterly entranced by this young man who spoke the words of a preacher, for no gain other than to put his dying citizens at ease.

He made his way over to the boy and clapped a hand onto his shoulder. "What's your name, lad?"

The boy nearly shrunk away from his touch, until he registered the infamous plague mask, and then he bowed his head in reverence.

"My name is Merlin, Doctor."

Gaius kept his hand firmly on the lad's shoulder and steered him down the cobbled streets, desperately isolating himself from the screams of terror and moans of pain that appeared to be everywhere.

"I heard your words. Seems like you're very affected by the horrors inflicting this town."

Merlin nodded, wide-eyed and trembling. "I lost my mum to this wretched curse. I wasn't there when she needed me. So I've made it my mission to shout words of love and encouragement at every marked house I see. It won't bring her back, but maybe it will help some people cross over to the afterlife with a little less pain."

Gaius nodded in approval. "I think that's a very noble task, lad. Putting yourself at risk like that just to soothe your neighbours's descent into the afterlife."

A tear ran down Merlin's face, but the boy paid it no heed. "That's all I want. I don't care if I happen to get sick in the process. I have no one left, so whatever happens to me, let it happen. All I want is for there to be just a sliver of hope hope, even for the doomed ones. _Especially_ for the doomed ones. They deserve to cross over in peace, to believe even through their agony that there's a beautiful place waiting to receive them and their loved ones."

This is when Gaius leveled an eyebrow at this brave, determined kid. It was the only part of him not hidden by the Doctor's mask, and he used it to his heart's content. 

"Merlin... I'm trying like mad, every hour of every day that no one's called for my services, to work on perfecting a cure. How would you like to be my apprentice?"

***

And that, essentially, had been that. Merlin was beyond himself at the chance to make a real difference with a _real doctor_. Merlin, too, was fitted with a Plague Doctor's mask, though the juxtaposition of his scrawny face and the large black beak had a bit of a comical element to it. But Gaius would not be a stoic, professional doctor if he allowed such admittedly hysterical presentations distract him from the job at hand.

Merlin had been a quick learner: the lad was so desperate to destroy the plague once and for all, he soaked up advice, new information and treatment plans like a sponge.

The fact that he'd lost his parents, his other relatives and his closest friends to the merciless disease only made Merlin's dedication more admirable to Gaius, who'd never wished for an apprentice but now felt ever so blessed with the one he'd got.

Together they wandered the area, hoping to save those who may still have a chance at life.

It wasn't until they'd been summoned to the room of a man so sick, his body was threatening to tear him apart.

Gaius was preparing to insist Merlin back away from this horrifically diseased person whose symptoms would be the death of them, when Merlin sat on the edge of the man's bed and pressed a cool hand to the dying man's forehead.

"When you wake up," the young lad murmured. "You will find yourself in a place you'd never even have dreamed of. And for a while there, it'll be scary, because you'll know you've passed on and your loved ones are nowhere in sight, but let me tell you this: as long as you follow the instructions given to you, you _will_ be reunited with your loved ones, and you'll never hurt again."

The dying man's vacant eyes lit up as they looked into Merlin's. A single tear rolled down his pallid cheek and he gripped Merlin's hand in a final attempt at physical contact.

The man's face, awash with torture for as long as Gaius had seen him, was contorted in a gentle smile of acceptance.

From that moment on, Gaius understood that his new apprentice was something special.

***

It was on a relatively quiet morning - sadly because the previous night's patients had all fatally succumbed to their illness - that Gaius received an urgent message from Lord Uther Pendragon.

This was an entirely different kettle of fish: the Pendragon Family were the wealthiest people he'd ever known (in fact, pre-Plague, Gaius had been their trusted family doctor).

Not that the old man would ever have denied a request from one of his most regular, trusted families, but right this moment times were tough and the elderly doctor could really use the money.

Gaius's thoughts instantly turned to the Lady Morgana, who'd all her life had been a target for all sorts of brutal illnesses on account of her anemic episodes as well as her relentless nightmares. But from the letter Uther had sent forth, it seemed the matter concerned his younger son Arthur.

Arthur, as far as Gaius had known, had always been as healthy as a horse. A dedicated fighter, a jousting champion, and every bit the future Lord of the manor; to imagine this blatantly vibrant, rosy-cheeked lad struck down by this nightmarish plague was a shock to the system.

Gaius had bellowed for Merlin to join him in his briefing room to go over the basics.

From what Uther had told him in his letter, Arthur Pendragon carried all the signs of what had recently been dubbed the Black Death: constant sniffling, buboes lancing his armpits and inner thighs, and the odd expulsion of bright pink vomit.

Just this once, Gaius declined the many requests for his help in order to focus on a much larger picture: a deathly ill Pendragon required him to pull out all the stops. It was the least he could do for a family he'd served for so many decades.

***

"I'm not sure how to feel about this," murmured Merlin on the way to Pendragon Manor.

"Whatever do you mean by that, boy?"

Merlin chewed his lip for a bit, a nervous habit, before allowing his eyes to meet Gaius's across from their horse-drawn carriage.

"You claim you want to help people, regardless of status or what they can or cannot afford, and so far I've seen no proof to the contrary. But right now, here we are, ignoring multiple desperate requests in favour of tending to a family of ponces hidden away in a bloody castle, far removed from the plebes."

Gaius's face flushed with shame, but it appeared Merlin wasn't done yet. "Just seems that we're ignoring our oath in favour of making money."

Gaius exhaled a sigh of resignation. "Don't think the thought hasn't crossed my mind, dear boy. But there was a time, long before I went it alone as a doctor that I served one family only. And those happened to be the Pendragons. I work myself to the bone to help the poor and defenceless, you know I do. But I've sworn an oath to this particular family: if ever one of them should be struck down with disease, I would be the attending doctor. And I don't take an oath lightly, young man."

Merlin bowed his head, accepting that he'd crossed a line.

"Very well, Sir. But tell me, is there any chance of us saving this person?"

Gaius shook his head and forced his eyes from leaking.

"Little to none, my boy. Little to none."

***

Lord Uther Pendragon had never been one for emotional reunions, so it spoke to the man's air of defeat when he wrapped Gaius in a strong embrace.

"It's so good of you to come, I haven't the words to thank you."

Gaius simply gripped his former employer by the shoulder, forcing their eyes to meet as he said, "What ever I can do for you, old boy."

That's when Gaius motioned Merlin over, who'd kept a respectful distance between the old friends reuniting.

"Uther, I'd like you to meet my apprentice, Merlin. I'm sure it's a lot to take in, a stranger on your turf, but I promise you: Merlin has the kind of bedside manner the Bible could only dream of. He'll have your boy convinced he's headed for a world of starshine and magic."

Uther Pendragon regarded Merlin with a critical, chilly eye. "He doesn't look like much."

Gaius sensed his youthful apprentice gearing up to lay into the man who'd insulted him, so Gaius once more squeezed his old employer's shoulder and confided in him.

"He's a scrawny, insolent little bugger, but he's been face-to-face with death many a time. And the commonalities here? All these wretched creatures departed for the afterlife with a massive smile on their face."

Uther raised an eyebrow so full of disapproval and condescension, Gaius instantly looked back at Merlin and made a few desperate attempts at mocking/ironic faces in hopes of distracting the boy from being his usual confrontational self.

Bless the Heavens, it worked.

"As much as I hope it isn't, Uther, imagine if your boy's at the end of his rope. Wouldn't you want him to spend his last hours in the presence of someone who will treat him as an equal? Someone who won't lie about the pain he'll feel, but also employ enough comedy, kindness and positivity to guide your boy through his final hours with courage and strength? Merlin here has powers unlike you've ever seen before. He'll soothe Arthur's tortured body and soul until your boy's fully convinced he's off on a trip to a paradise unknown."

Uther's jaw twitched in indecision, and Gaius expected no less of his former employer. Uther Pendragon was a man of great pride, and having one of his children succumb to a common illness must've torn him apart inside.

"Is this boy strong enough to make my son forget the pain he's in?"

Gaius shot his former friend/employer an encouraging smile.

"Sir, by the time Merlin's done talking to him, Arthur will be wandering lands unknown, healthy and happy and free of the pain that's currently confining him to his bed."

Uther Pendragon gave his old friend a nod of approval. "Send him in."

***

Merlin snuck into Arthur Pendragon's room, trying his best to stay quiet so as not to wake the obviously weakened young man resting on the bed.

Like so many before him, Arthur cut a tragic figure: face pale, buboes littering his body, a tiny trail of bright red drool seeping from the corner of his mouth.

Arthur Pendragon was one of the condemned. Merlin knew it as soon as he laid eyes on the man. The forehead was slick with fever, the breaths were raspy and desperate, and there was a bucket of rose-tinted vomit situated next to the young man's bed.

Merlin dipped a piece of cloth into a bucket of water and tried to rid Arthur's face of the signs of disease. He mopped the damp forehead first, then gently removed the traces of blood coming from Arthur's ears as well as the corners of his mouth.

"I'm so terribly sorry this is how your story ends."

Merlin continued his gentle ministrations, scrubbing the cloth along Arthur's red hot chest.

"But I'll promise you one thing: this is not the end. It's only the beginning."

He scrubbed down Arthur's trembling arms.

"I know you're in pain, you're in so much pain, and it's so terribly unfair. Well, that's where you're in luck..."

Merlin lifted Arthur's arms and gently rubbed the cloth over the buboes littering the man's armpits.

"The afterlife is eagerly awaiting your presence. I should know, because I've been there. Now, sssh, don't go telling Gaius: he thinks I'm a simple apprentice with a knack for putting people at ease, and I wouldn't have it any other way."

Next up were Arthur's inner thighs, also riddled with buboes.

"The truth is, Arthur, I belong to another world altogether. And as soon you make it to that side, _my_ side, I promise you'll always be looked after."

After he'd finished his ministrations, Merlin sat back and watched what little life was left inside of Arthur Pendragon's body struggle for dominance.

It wasn't until he'd leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to Arthur's feverish forehead that Arthur's heartbeat went down, and so did the pain.

***

When Gaius came in to collect his apprentice, the young man was nowhere to be found.

Neither, for that matter, was the Pendragon heir who'd occupied this very bed for the last 5 months.


	7. Catch You If I Can

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin and Arthur's paths have crossed for years.
> 
> Their stories seem intertwined throughout their childhood, eventually building up to a wonderful 2-year friendship.
> 
> But then real life happens and Merlin is alone once more. Or is he, really?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)

**CATCH YOU IF I CAN**

For Merlin Emrys and Arthur Pendragon, both currently aged 19, the Halloween Game had been something of a landmark.

They'd been at it since they were young enough to believe in spirits and curses, and by the time they'd gradually lost faith, the games were too irresistible to ignore.

Their story went back many years...

***

**AGE 5:**

Merlin had always loved the vast woods surrounding his town. His mum had told him stories of many local creatures, including frogs, birds and insects.

Young Merlin cared little for birds and insects, but he bloody _loved_ frogs, so off he went into the untamed woods of Ealdor, hoping to cradle a live frog in his bare hands and perhaps befriend the creature enough to be able to keep it as a pet.

Though little Merlin managed to capture many a frog, it seemed not a single one of them wanted to spend their lifetime confined in a 5-year-old boy's room, and Merlin allowed for them to skip back off into the woods as he fought back tears.

It had been one of those afternoons, when Merlin had to set free yet another beautiful frog that wouldn't be his friend for life, that a boy his own age came traipsing through the woods.

"What are you crying for? They're just frogs, they're not pets."

Merlin had been raised to treat his fellow humans with respect, but he was very sad and the other boy's tone rattled him, so he kicked a bunch of sand into the other boy's face.

"You don't know anything 'bout anything!" Merlin cried, before running off and leaving that mean boy to splutter and cry off the sand attack.

***

**AGE 7:**

It was the evening of Halloween, and Merlin was dressed as the Hamburglar. His mum didn't have a whole lot of money, but she'd done her best to make him look as realistic as possible. Merlin always loved his mum, but even more so when she created costumes out of nowhere.

Merlin had been wandering the streets for a while, gaining compliments and candy wherever he went, when he bumped into another kid and wound up flat on his bum.

"Watch where you're going, twerp!" shouted the very solid child who'd knocked him over.

Merlin shot straight up, fire in his eyes, and shouted back, "You owe me an apology, dillhole!"

The rude kid turned around, and that's when Merlin realised he was face-to-face with Grimace. Which would've made him laugh if it weren't for Grimace being such a rude bag of turnips.

"How 'bout you make like a McDonald's customer and _bite me_ , loser."

Merlin had no idea how to argue with such an admittedly terrific comeback, so he just sneered at his nemesis and went on to garner sympathy from elderly ladies who took one look at the tearful little Hamburglar and showered him with candy.

***

**AGE 10:**

Merlin was enamoured with his brand new costume. Over the years, Hunith Emrys had perfected the art of costume design and her glorious efforts had led to this very moment: Merlin was now officially the world's tiniest Nosferatu.

Over the years, Merlin's frame remained scrawny and frail, but his ears were a different matter altogether.

The taunts of his classmates were getting more relentless by the minute, and Merlin was tired of the constant Dumbo-comparisons (which he never truly understood; Dumbo was both adorable _and_ a hero in his own right, so how was this an insult?!).

Merlin loved scary movies as well as the black-and-white movie channel, and that's when genius struck: Nosferatu! Not only was he the classic-est, scariest vampire in horror movie history, he had an impressive set of ears at that! Merlin felt he was born to portray this classic villain.

Not to mention his stroke of genius had saved his beloved mum a great deal of money: all he needed was a bald cap and a cape (the set of fake teeth had been in his possession since at least 3 Christmases ago).

The costume was his greatest success yet: between adults complimenting him on his advanced taste in horror films and confused kids screaming or backing away at the sight of him, it was clear that Merlin had struck gold and his bag of candy had never been fuller.

At the end of the night, Merlin had settled down on the steps of a vacated home in order to take inventory of his candy, when a shadow fell over him.

"Well, well, Nosfera-tool," sneered a voice. "Let's see what you've got."

The obnoxious turnip trying to catch a glimpse of Merlin's prized possessions was dressed as Julius Caesar, and Merlin would be damned if he'd allow for Caesar to hone in on Nosferatu's bag of treats.

"I will chew a tunnel through your throat, you Greek _fuck_!" yelled Merlin, employing every threatening word within his vocabulary, confident in the fact that his mum was nowhere to hear him.

"I'm Roman, you belligerent _shite_!" yelled his opponent.

The two young boys snarled at each other, before Caesar collapsed in a fit of giggles.

"HAMBURGLAR?! That you?"

Merlin caught on quickly. "Grimace... we meet again."

Caesar removed his leafy crown in order to bow and greet Merlin properly. "Seems we've been crossing paths for a long time."

The other boy's rich vocabulary intimidated Merlin, but he would be damned if he'd let him.

"Guess you haven't learned your lesson. These streets aren't big enough for the both of us."

Caesar, still clutching his crown in one hand, looked at Merlin before collapsing into a fit of giggles.

"Th-that's cowboy talk, you big dumb! Aren't you supposed to be an old-timey vampire?!"

Finally, Merlin had something to lord over his eloquent rival: "That's _Nosferatu_ to you, you great big peasant, and I'll say whatever the bloody hell I want!"

Merlin sure hoped his mum wasn't around to hear him; his earlobes couldn't survive the torture.

That's when Julius Caesar did something altogether unexpected: he moved towards Merlin and held out his hand.

The boy appeared to take Merlin's confusion in stride, as he said, "Hiya, I'm Arthur."

Only once Merlin was sure he wasn't being jerked about, he slid his hand into Arthur's.

"I'm Merlin."

***

**AGE 13:**

For the past 3 years, Merlin and Arthur had become inseperable.

Though Merlin had lived in Ealdor all his life, Arthur hailed from a wealthier part of town: Camelot. When Merlin had asked his brand new friend why he insisted on slumming it, Arthur's cheeks had turned bright red, and he told Merlin that the people of Ealdor were far more generous about giving away free candy. And that there were other factors.

Merlin had no idea what "other factors" entailed, but he didn't care; he'd finally made a friend.

For the past 2 years, he and Arthur had settled on matching costumes: king and court jester, Bert and Ernie (Arthur was _such_ a Bert in general, and Merlin had to struggle not to collapse in giggles whenever he looked at Arthur's unibrow).

It was when both boys had turned 13 that they had their first big row, which also wound up being their final.

Arthur had for some inexplicable reason decided that he was past the age of dressing up and goofing off, while Merlin could've gladly continued for the next six years.

Merlin was proud of his costume: one of the Bananas in Pyjamas. He'd texted Arthur the plan in advance.

But when Arthur showed up sans costume, Merlin was a very sad banana indeed.

"Why aren't you dressed yet? Are you ill?"

Arthur cleared his throat a couple of times, seemingly building up to something, before hanging his head. "Merlin, for God's sake. Don't you think this whole matching costumes thing is a little... well, gay?"

Arthur took off before Merlin had the chance to process his friend's question.

And all he eventually managed to come up with was... _well, so what if it bloody was_?

***

**AGE 19:**

The Halloween party was in full swing. Gwen and Lancelot had gone out of their way: they'd sacrificed their cosy flat for the sake of entertaining their closest mates, and the room was decorated with ornaments varying from cute to terrifying. Not to mention the punch - courtesy of Gwaine - which was a force to be reckoned with. In an effort to please the young-at-heart, both Gwen and Lance had insisted their guests each bring a bag of candy. Costumes were, thankfully, optional; although highly recommended.

Merlin had gone for a simple, last-minute costume: himself, dressed in his finest (read: most recently washed) clothes. If anyone asked, he took his inspiration from Wednesday Addams from the classic 'Addams Family Values': he was a serial killer; they looked like everyone else.

Although he'd loved Halloween for so long, things just hadn't been the same ever since his childhood friend Arthur ditched him in favour of whatever the fuck posh kids did that didn't involve dressing up and goofing off for the best time of the year.

And honestly, that suited Merlin just fine: ever since he'd come out as gay at the age of 15, his lack of costume had fallen in favour with many a man. For all the years he'd spent worrying about his ears, it appeared the rest of him was quite gorgeous where others were concerned.

But truth be told, the years since he'd lost his coolest Halloween buddy had rendered him jaded. What had once been an opportunity to look absolutely ridiculous and entertain the neighbourhood was now an excuse to attend vaguely-themed parties, hook up with handsome but absent-minded strangers, only to wind up home alone, watching horror flicks and overdosing on cheap candy.

Merlin was hiding in the kitchen, having rejected multiple people's advances as well as attempts to rope him into jolly conversation. Just a couple more shots of Gwaine's lethal punch and he'd probably be willing to seize the moment.

A man had entered the kitchen to help himself to the punch, and Merlin wouldn't have registered his presence if it wasn't for the man's next words.

"This is absolutely fucking ghastly. Hamburglar, how are you putting up with this?"

The voice may have deepened with age, but Merlin would recognise those posh, sophisticated tones anywhere.

"Well, Grimace, most of our tastebuds aren't as delicate as yours."

In that very moment, two underdressed, handsome young men connected through childhood met each other's eyes, and sparks flew.


	8. Going Nuclear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a series of devastating explosions, the city of Camelot has been reduced to rubble.
> 
> Radiation permeates the air, and while some people huddled in bomb shelters and panic rooms, a greater many are either dead or dying or slowly losing their minds.
> 
> The people had been instructed to wait until the all clear was given.
> 
> For Merlin, son of an experienced survivalist, sitting back meekly isn't an option. If there are people to be rescued, he'll damn well do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :( + :)

**GOING NUCLEAR**

The first couple of months after the Camelot explosions, there was only silence.

When the tinny, frantic voice on the radio demanded the citizens of Camelot find the nearest bunker, panic room, or any other isolated dwelling, the people listening to the broadcast in their homes or at their places of work, a sense of disbelief robbed them of their speech.

And then the loud, blaring alarms went off. And they didn't stop until after the explosions.

After that, a single command for survivors to stay put and not go outside unless otherwise instructed. And then: silence.

Three goddamned months since that last announcement, and still nothing.

***

Merlin was putting the finishing touches to his collection.

His backpack sat on the corner of his cot, waiting to be filled.

He went over the contents of his Dad's old woodworking table once more to be sure. Hunting knife, axe, poison darts, worker's gloves, flame thrower, hammer, thermal shirts, bottled water and various cans of tinned foods. All there. Time to pack.

Packing done with, he put on gloves, his climbing boots and his red-and-black checkered wool-lined hunter's coat. He slipped a second hunting knife into his boot. Last up was the gas mask.

Time to get out.

***

What struck him first was the fog. A mixture of pulverised debris and toxic fumes so thick it was difficult to see anything at all.

Not that there was much to see. Where once stood houses, garages, mailboxes and sheds, there were only piles of shredded wood, ashes and burned tree stumps.

Merlin tripped over a large branch and landed on his knees. It wasn't until he pushed himself back up that he saw the object he'd tripped over was in fact a torn off leg.

He fought back the bile rising to his throat and moved on as fast he could.

As he made his way through the wasteland that had once been the proud city of Camelot, he heard a distinctive sound: a woman wailing.

He moved closer to the source of the noise, ready to pull the knife from his boot if needed.

On the rumbled grounds of what had once been a house, a woman sat rocking back and forth. Her clothes were torn, her hair was lank and matted, and every inch of her was covered in grotesque, infected sores.

Merlin couldn't tell if her wails were of sorrow, physical pain or insanity. It was clear that she had no idea he was even there, nor for that matter where _she_ was. Her eyes had the vacant sheen of someone whose mind had given up completely.

It broke Merlin's heart. He had been helping people for as long as he'd been alive. He helped his survivalist Dad in his trainings, he took care of his Mum when his Dad got caught in a turf war with a group of paranoid conspiracy theorist survivalists and took a bullet to the head (Balinor had always warned Merlin against these people: he was a man simply willing to be prepared for any potential disaster, and he had no use for lunatics with rifles who ranted and raved about the government and would gleefully shoot anyone who accidentally wandered into their territory).

After getting his mother back on her feet, he became a veterenarian and did some volunteer work on the side to get frightened refugees acclimated to their new surroundings.

Helping people and animals was Merlin's calling, and as horrified as he was at his inability to do anything for this woman in distress, seeing her had not defeated him. If anything, he felt emboldened.

There had to be other survivors out here. And it was time he found some.

***

Later in the evening, Merlin wandered into the woods to find shelter for the night. It was a creepy scene; a tree graveyard full of blackened, rotten stumps and dead rodents and birds wherever he looked.

He sat on a pile of rocks, wincing at the ache in his bum, and gathered some twigs. He took out his flame thrower because after the day he'd had, he was feeling too winded to make the fire himself.

He held a tin of beans over the fire and waited. When dinner was ready, he carefully removed only the lowest part of his mask and quickly wolfed down the beans, afraid to inhale the air. He tugged the mask back down and contemplated what to do next.

He had to sleep, he knew that, but he was far too keyed up right now to consider it.

The day had been an exercise in depression and nausea. He'd come across several huddled masses, each more ravaged by the radiation poisoning. They were walking bruises, ripped apart by sores, their noses and mouths bleeding, probably for such a long time already they didn't even bother to wipe it off.

Where once had been bird sounds and church bells, now there were screams of grief, wails of agony, and the occasionally frantic monologue by those who'd gone insane.

There were bodies everywhere, bloodied mothers with their arms wrapped around their children even in death, people who'd most likely been running the streets in a desperate search to find shelter. Merlin tried to imagine how many of them had probably been turned away by people with perfectly suitable bomb shelters with plenty of room, and the thought made him angry enough to fight if ever the opportunity presented himself.

Which made him think of the psychotic bastards who took his Dad from him. Of course they would still be out there, the whole lot of them, and if Merlin couldn't find any survivors who weren't beyond saving, he would move on to Plan B: locate the fuckers' compound and take them all down.

Merlin was taken out of his reverie by the most startling sound he'd heard all day: riotous laughter. This was worth inspecting.

Still, he kept his trusted axe close at his side. This could be the laughter of lunacy. But there had been something vibrant and carefree about it, and he wanted to trust his instincts.

Tracking the source of the joyful noises was not a problem. He spotted a large bonfire, surrounded by a group of people around his age. They were passing around bottles of liquor, reciting dirty limericks, and occasionally getting up to dance and twirl around the bonfire. They roasted marshmallows and frankfurters, and this sight of unadulterated happiness was the first thing of all today's events that made Merlin cry.

He stepped into the clearing and put his hands up in surrender when the cheerful faces had suddenly turned to panic. "Don't worry. I'm not here to hurt you. It's just been so long since I've seen a happy face."

One of the men beckoned him forth with a magmanimous grin. He shook his thick, surprisingly shiny hair out of his eyes and held out a hand.

"Always happy to welcome a wary stranger. Name's Gwaine, and this lot are The Lost Boys. Even the lasses. Seemed an appropriate name for a merry band of survivors who got away with little to no bad effects from the radiation."

It was true, Merlin realised, and no wonder they remembered how to have fun: they had been spared.

"How... how is this _possible_? Everyone I ran into back there was just covered in sores and blisters and like... rotting on the outside."

At this, Gwaine's jovial face darkened. "Yeah, they've probably been out here from the beginning. Us lot, we'd locked ourselves in a hidden bunker, right in these here woods. Spent a couple months in there before cabin fever started turning us into paranoid arseholes. So up we went."

"Weren't you scared, of the radiation and all?"

Gwaine considered this. "A bit, perhaps. But then we decided we'd rather enjoy each other's company as well as our freedom, and if it killed us, that's just too bad. You never did tell us your name."

"Merlin. My name is Merlin, and thank you for welcoming me into your group."

"Ain't a thing. Now, I can see that you're well prepared, which I admire in a survivor, but you can probably ditch the are-you-my-mummy mask. Radiation's gone down a fuckton since the early days."

Merlin took a chance and did as the man suggested. At this, Gwaine's eyes lit up with mischief. "Well, well. Fully prepared for the apocalypse _and_ a pretty face."

Merlin hid his blush by stuffing his mask into his backpack.

"Let's introduce you to the rest of this ungainly lot: that human skyscraper over there's Percy, the blonde setting more fire to her hair than her food is Elena, and the one enjoying himself a one-man hotdog eating contest is-"

"WILL?!" Merlin gaped, and when the other man tore his attentions away from his hotdog, so did he.

"It's you! You're _that_ Merlin! Holy shit!" He jumped up and launched himself at Merlin with a suffocating but wonderful bear hug.

Will turned around clapped Merlin on the chest, smiling widely his companions. "This magnificent beast was my closest friend until we were 12 and had to move to Dad's army base. Never had a better mate since."

And just like that, Merlin was pulled into another hug and deposited on one of the pillows surrounding the bonfire.

He couldn't believe how much he'd needed this.

***

The next morning, Merlin woke up surrounded by the first truly happy people he'd seen in months. They were bundled up in sleeping bags around the smoldering fire.

He dressed himself as quietly as possible, not wanting to deprive them from the joys of sleep. He had just finished tying his shoelaces when he made eye contact with Gwaine, the only member of the party currently awake.

He zipped open his sleeping back and went over to Merlin. "Leaving so soon, then?" he whispered.

"I have to. More people are out there and they might need help."

Gwaine nodded and clasped Merlin's shoulder. "Then I wish you all the best. It was good to meet you, however briefly."

Merlin squeezed Gwaine's shoulder in return, then nodded resolutely and secured his gas mask back on. He wasn't taking risks when outside of the woods, the vapors and fog were still so potent.

Time to see what else was out there.

***

He'd been wandering the streets for days, numb now to the sounds of screams and despair. He'd had to fight of a couple of people who'd gone mad with rage, but their bodies were so frail he never even had to grab for his knife.

He only stopped to sleep, eat and drink, and then he marched further and further. Being long-legged and in good shape kept him going, but the feelings of defeat weighed heavy on his heart.

The one good thing had been when he'd spotted a supermarket that was still in decent shape, and he liberated himself to a couple of candy bars. And then, miraculously, the sounds of an animal munching. 

And there he was: a dog, strong and healthy, attacking the contents of a large bag of dog treats. Merlin just stood there in awe. Not only was this animal alive, he looked beautifully healthy and well taken care of.

In the midst of his reverie, he hadn't noticed the man coming up behind him.

"Maximus, show a _little_ restraint."

Merlin whirled around, eyes wide. In front of him stood a man in full military regalia, a truly impressive machine gun in a sling around his shoulder.

"I don't want any trouble."

The man scoffed. "I don't recall asking for any. Pretty neat get-up, you part of some underground organisation?"

"There's nothing about me that's ever been organised, one way or another. I just wanted a candy bar."

At this, the man threw his head back with laughter and Merlin's keyed up nerves finally relaxed.

"You always put on your gas mask and protective knee pads when you go on a candy run?"

"I do when the world's swimming with radiation poisoning. My ears are big enough as is, I wouldn't want to grow three more just because I'd decided to faff about in a nuclear wasteland."

"You sound like a reasonable, non-paranoid sort," the man said skeptically. "Shit isn't so bad now. It's gone from instant sores and hair loss and bleeding from every orifice to... I'd say, cancer in your late sixties."

"Well, that's reassuring, I was hoping to live safely while I'm young and then die an excruciating death when I'm old."

"Hey, it's what most people do, anyway. So where you headed, boy wonder?"

"Not a clue. I went out looking for people to rescue, but so far, no dice."

At this, the man's face became pensive. "Well, if that's the case, I may have a job assignment for you. Mind you, you'll be thoroughly vetted before you're even approved, so if you have any skeletons in your closet you may want to tell me now."

Merlin's eyebrows climbed up. "I don't even have a blasted clue who you are. For all I know you run a mutant cannibal compound somewhere."

The man grinned, and it was a beautiful one at that. "Close, but no cigar. I run an army base. Field Marshall Arthur Pendragon, at your service."

"So you're out here because..."

"Same reason as you. Rescue what can be rescued. People, animals, salvageable foods, housing structures, you name it."

Merlin took off his gas mask and shoved it under his arm, holding the other one out to shake Pendragon's hand.

"Name's Merlin, and I would be glad for anything you have to offer."

Arthur's mouth twitched a bit like that, and Merlin saw a hint of Gwaine's flirtatious twinkles in those eyes, but he chalked it up to a long day.

Maximus, finally full after his binge, pressed his large wet nose against Merlin's hand.

"Looks like you've already got one vote to back you up. Let's get out there and save the world. What say you, Merlin?"


	9. Sleep Paralysis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin documents his nights as part of a psychiatric experiment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :(

**DAY ONE:**

"Good day," he murmurs into the camera. "Good day. Don't go and turn on me now, okay?"

A nervous shiver.

" _Help me out here._ "

He crawls into bed and pulls the covers over his head.

30 minutes awake, then nothing.

***

**DAY TWO:**

"So far, so good. Pray it stays like this."

No sight of anything, but he is disturbed at midnight by something intangible.

He bats at something in the air, then goes back to sleep.

***

**DAY THREE:**

"Merlin here. Very tired. Think I sensed something the other night, but it could very well be the lack of sleep talking. Help a lad out, will you, trusty camera? Alright."

A second blanket's been added to the former scene.

Sleep comes quickly.

A shadow moves near the curtains; barely visible to the eye, but there if one's looking.

***

**DAY FOUR:**

"So... last night. That was definitely a ... a _thing_ , by the curtains. Don't much feel like going to sleep, but my body demands it. So. Into the darkness I go."

An extra set of blankets and pillows for comfort.

A stuffed alpaca toy for peace of mind.

A shadow moving from the curtains to the edge of the bed.

***

**DAY FIVE:**

"That can't have been a trick of the light. Or the shadows. Can it? I feel as if I'm losing my mind, here."

More stuffed animals.

More shadows.

Closer now.

***

**DAY SIX:**

"One more night alone and I'm calling in reinforcements. Meaning Arthur. I need to _know_."

A peaceful night, moonlight playing an elaborate dance across the room.

Contentment.

***

**DAY SEVEN:**

"Arthur here. Trying to keep my paranoid boyfriend from smothering himself in his sleep or conspiracy-theorising himself to death."

"Fuck's sake, take it seriously."

"No can do, mate. But I'm willing to bodyguard."

Two figures curl up into each other, huddling for warmth and comfort.

First a hint of a shadow, then darkness.

Merlin wakes up alone.


	10. Performance Of A Lifetime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin had no idea how he'd ended up here. First there was death. Then there was a stage. Then there was a familiar sense of crippling stage fright.
> 
> He didn't understand. Hadn't he been decent while he was alive?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TINY bit of :( but so much :) at the end you don't even know, mate

He was up on a stage. That much he knew.

The audience members were somewhere in the thousands. That much he guessed.

How had he ended up here? That much was a mystery.

***

Merlin Emrys had been 25 years old at his time of death.

He'd been quickly zipped up in a body bag, while the man who drove the lorry that hit him was slowly sentenced to 7 months of community service.

Regardless of whether the man had intended to hit Merlin or not (he claimed not, and the court agreed), it seemed like a slap on the wrist to Merlin.

He'd intended to go places. Sure, being a Liberal Arts Major tended to count for very little in this world, but could've written the next top best-seller if it hadn't been for the sleep-deprived wanker who'd decided to drive when he had no business to.

Merlin was once a bleeding heart, socialist neo-hippie, courtesy of Hunith Emrys: former _actual_ hippie and radical feminist back when those things got you arrested if you were just a bit too gobby about it (and Hunith had been... many a time).

But there was something about an underpaid, overworked bloke hitting you with his vehicle and leaving your ghost to fend for itself that left a spirit feeling somewhat uncharitable.

Especially if said spirit had previously suffered from crippling stage fright and now found himself standing in front of a crowd of thousands of dead people, eagerly anticipating his failure.

***

After several attempts at blinking and making the whole thing go away, Merlin realised he wasn't getting out of this.

So instead, he decided to improvise.

"I have shuffled off this mortal coil... and still I am alone."

The crowd's exciteable murmurs died down, and so he continued, no clue as to where he was going with this.

"Here I've found myself without a beating heart, without a place to call my home, without someone... with... without some-"

Shit. He'd been thinking of his mum, gone but nowhere near forgotten, and it seemed that even in the afterlife she was nowhere near him. Which was likely the reason for the tears streaming down his cheeks, and didn't it just figure that the afterlife refused to give him back his Mum, but kept up his ability to cry and choke up onstage.

He must've been an absolute bastard back when he'd been alive.

"...someone to call my..."

He hiccupped, and the crowd buzzed with excitement, hungry eyes focused on the young man falling to pieces before them.

Merlin had no idea what to think of any of this: while many seemed eager to watch him falter, he also detected several sympathetic faces struggling to watch him suffer like this.

Was this purgatory? Was this ridiculous charade his one chance at getting into the good place?

He cleared his throat and forced himself to be steady and solemn as he recited the first words that came to mind.

" _Without someone to call my own_. I lost my Mum; she died. And now it appears I've died, too, and where is she now? Nowhere I can see. But here I am. And I'd like to ask the lot of you: _what is it for_?!"

He'd ditched his attempts at acting; the reality of the situation hit too close to home and once again he found himself breaking.

"WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS FOR?!" he yelled, wholly unhinged now and truly feeling the debilitating loneliness seep into his bones.

The crowd once more buzzed with enthralment, and by this time Merlin was so utterly miserable he no longer saw the stricken, aching faces; every single person in this room was his enemy.

"I did nothing wrong except get hit by a lorry before realising my full potential, and now this is where the fuck I am. In front of thousands of people, my one true nightmare, and try as I may I just can't seem to figure out what I did that was so wrong that I should be subjected to this kind of torture. Laugh, clap, and murmur all you bloody want, none of you mean anything to me."

Merlin wiped away another blasted tear, never taking his eye off the audience.

"I tried to be good, and it got me nowhere except dead and up on this godforsaken stage. So perhaps it's time for me to start telling people to fuck on off, starting with the lot of you."

Many more tears escaped his treacherous eyes, and Merlin scrubbed at them furiously, no longer aware of the crowd.

"I'm dead, my mum's not here, and I'm surrounded by wankers feeding off my misery, so why should I be bloody nice? Fuck the lot of you. Fuck what happened to me. Fuck the guy who's right this minute telling the papers how bloody sorry he is for ending my life. I'm done being nice. Where did it ever get _me_?"

At first, Merlin assumed the lack of noise coming from the crowd was all down to him and the way he'd shed himself of his decent, caring skin. But after several minutes of pure silence, he looked up and found a blurry mass of unidentifiable faces. Except for one, stark silhouette amongst the crowd.

"Your niceness saved me," the silhouette spoke, and the rest of the crowd slowly came back into view.

"You may not remember me, but I remember you. My name is Arthur Pendragon."

At the mention of that name, Merlin's memory transported him back in time.

***

_The little blond boy sat in the back of the room, studiously ignoring his classmates._

_Earlier that day, before the boy arrived, the teacher had told the students that a very special little boy was to join them. It was 5 days until Mother's Day, and most of the children had been working at making their mummies the best possible cards._

_But, the teacher told them, this particular boy had no Mummy. Which meant it would be rude to ask him about her, but also, could they make sure he felt welcome and appreciated nonetheless?_

_That was a task for Merlin, for sure. He'd always felt other people's sadness keenly, and he was very close to his Mum. So a boy who had no Mummy to call his own was the saddest boy in the world to Merlin, and he was determined to make this very sad boy's life a little better; Mother's Day or no._

_Or so Merlin's caring soul had initially assumed._

_Arthur Pendragon, as was the sad little Mummy-less boy's name, was a real challenge. Or truth be told: he was a pain in the you-know-what._

_At first, Merlin had simply said 'hi' and handed the surly blond boy a self-made tulip. Now, Merlin was very skilled at handcrafting tulips from crêpe paper, so it hadn't been much of a bother, but when Arthur glared at him and crushed said tulip in his tiny wrist, it had definitely not endeared him to Merlin._

_Not a problem, Merlin decided. This little boy was clearly extra sad, and no amount of make-believe flowers were going to lift his spirits._

_When teacher asked the class how they'd progressed with their Mother's Day gifts, most of the students boasted, but not Merlin (and the watercolour painting he'd made for his Mummy was truly exceptional, he thought). He figured Arthur just needed a little bit more attention this year than his Mummy did, and he had no doubt his Mummy would understand once he told her the whole story._

_By the time most of the students had put the finishing touches to their Mothers Day's gifts, Merlin had instead made a tiny clay dragon._

_Sadly, by the time he planned to hand it over to Arthur, the classroom was empty besides the teacher._

_"Anything special for me today, Merlin?"_

_Merlin had been a teacher's pet his whole life, and he struggled against his every instinct as he said, "No, ma'am, just a bit slow I guess..."_

_Cradling the clay dragon in his hands, Merlin made his way onto the playground, where he spotted his Mum's car instantly. He also spotted Arthur sitting in one half of the playground's swingset, which meant Merlin had to make a decision._

_He hurried over to his Mummy's car, kissed her on the cheek through the open window and told her, "There's something I need to do real quick, please give me a minute?"_

_Merlin's Mummy, being as wonderful as she was, smiled warmly and told him she'd be there when he got back from his urgent business._

_The most urgent matter having been settled, Merlin ran over to the playground and plopped down in the seat next to Arthur's on the swingset._

_"Hiya, Arthur! Don't wanna go home yet?"_

_Arthur did his usual business of scowling at the ground and mumbling. "Nowhere to go."_

_Merlin stopped his incessant swinging and frowned. "Why not? Don't you have a home to go to?"_

_"Course I bloody well do, _Mer_ lin," grumbled Arthur. "Driver's just not here yet."_

_Well, if that didn't stop Merlin in his merrily-swinging tracks. "You've got a _driver_?!"_

_The other boy's defensive posture slumped, and his previously scowly face grinned lazily. "So what if I do, poor boy?"_

_Merlin didn't get to the wholly-actualised age of 6 without knowing how to defend himself. "I'm not poor, you're just super rich. So what's with the frowny face, rich boy? What you got to frown about, huh?"_

_He regretted his attitude the moment Arthur's smug little smirk turned downwards again._

_"Maybe it's none of your bloody business, _Mer_ lin!"_

_Arthur jumped off of his seat, but Merlin wasn't about to let that happen, so he did the most logical thing that came to mind and tackled the other boy before he had the chance to take off._

_Merlin had all sorts of topics in mind: from how Arthur shouldn't allow for his Mum's absence to wear him down, to how Arthur should allow to let his poor classmates in no matter how rich he was and they weren't, etc._

_What he eventually came up with, pushing the other boy into the sand beneath them, was this: "I made you a dragon, you nit!"_

_Arthur, apparently done fighting for the day, held still and murmured into a mouth of sand, "Whzzat now?"_

_Confident that his potential buddy-slash-nemesis wouldn't run for the hills, Merlin sat up and allowed Arthur to catch his breath, spitting out bits of sand inbetween._

_"This," Merlin yelled, holding out the tiny clay dragon figurine towards Arthur. "I made it for you. Cause your name's Pendragon, which's got 'dragon' in it, you dig?"_

_Arthur, still pinned beneath Merlin but now quiet and contemplative, looked at the little clay figurine. And then he giggled, so suddenly and so loudly it startled Merlin and threw him right off of the other boy's shuddering body._

_Merlin was at a loss for what to do, Arthur's reaction striking him as a medical condition given the boy's surly disposition, but then Arthur calmed and took the clay dragon from Merlin's hand._

_"Thank you, Merlin. I'll love it forever and ever."_

_The little boy's smile was unlike anything Merlin had ever seen, and worth so much more than the actual 'thanks'._

_Soon after, Arthur was transfered to another, more prestigious school and Merlin never saw him again._

***

Time may have passed considerably, but Merlin had never quite forgotten that golden head of hair, nor that surprisingly gentle smile, regardless of the adult, finely-structured face currently wreaking havoc on his undead loins.

Merlin intended to say something utterly profound, the kind of thing that would've knocked Arthur Pendragon off his feet and turned his world upside down; his formerly scrawny, gawky 6-year-old classmate now a fearless, confident adult male with broad shoulders to match.

Instead he yelled, rather to the satisfaction of his audience, "I gave you a dragon!"

Arthur chuckled, and the sound far surpassed that of the tittering spectators.

"I know. I've been sitting through countless rehashes of Shakespeare and truly dreadful dance recitals set to Tchaikovsky, wondering why the fuck I'm here."

He moved through the crowd effortlessly, like Moses through the Red Sea, until he and Merlin were face-to-face. Arthur's hands slipped into Merlin's, and his face leaned in close.

" _I know why I'm here, now._ "

Merlin frowned, still unsure this wasn't a dream, as well as feeling unsettled by the silence surrounding them in spite of the thousands of faces watching their every move. "Why's that, then?"

Arthur pulled back, though never letting go of hands. He smiled widely, the way he had when Merlin had given him that little clay dragon.

Except instead of taking off for good, his presence promised to stick around forever this time.

"I think it's time for us to move into our permanent residence."

At this point the crowd had faded far into the background and instead the two deceased young men faced a tunnel of blinding lights.

The end of the tunnel rang with laughter that sounded distinctly like Merlin's beloved Mum's.

As both men made their way forward, hand in hand, edging ever closer to that warm motherly sound of laughter, the background noise strongly resembled a spectacular applause.


	11. What's He Building In There?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur is only 16 years old when he meets A) the love of his life, and B) the true extent of his father's insanity.
> 
> See, Uther's been working on a solo project inside the Pendragon Manor's barn, and it's very worrying indeed...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :( just HARDxCORE :(, total 100% dedicated horror to make sure I don't lose myself in feel-good fluff
> 
> [Title from [What's He Building](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qAkZT_4vL_Y) by Tom Waits, one of the most horrifying 'songs' in the world. No Halloween mix is complete without it.]

At 1AM, like clockwork, Arthur was awakened by the pounding of hammers and the screeching of hinges. These noises would inevitably be followed by the sound of a drill or chainsaw.

Never had a mystery flummoxed 16-year-old Arthur Pendragon more. The sounds of building and home craftmanship had never exactly been familiar to Pendragon Manor.

All that changed two weeks ago. Christ, but had it only been two? The noise, the sleepless nights, combined with the underlying fear of _something_ bad to come made for an endless kind of torture.

Uther Pendragon had always been a tough man to get to know, even as his own flesh and blood. The conservative, rigid man was primarily in favour of a curt tone or a snide barb, but this... This was insanity.

At some point in the last two weeks, he'd become impossible to reach. The best Arthur could get out of him was a very strained and inhuman-sounding "Good morning" and "Good night". Once, when Uther robotically asked him how school was, Arthur had sprinted up to his room without answer and that bloody _tone_ had kept him up all night. Right until the moment the sounds of manual labour started coming from the barn outside the manor.

It wasn't just the fact that his workaholic father had taken early retirement; after all, Uther had so much money the next three generations of Pendragons wouldn't need to work for anything in their lives. The retirement could've been a fluke, or an aging rich man's decision to spend more time with family. 

But if anything, Uther's retirement had made him more reclusive. And it was that, plus the conversation (stilted even by Uther's usual old money means), that made Arthur worry. Hard.

Apart from the odd, unsettling breakfast greetings, Uther slept through the day and got up at midnight. Then he would go into the barn and work at something... _something_.

Arthur had tried exactly once to go out there and try to get to the bottom of things. All he'd seen was Uther, through the gap of the open barn door, his woodworking apron covered in sawdust and spots that could've looked like blood if you squinted, but couldn't be, could they?

Uther had screamed at Arthur in ways he only saved for moments his son was in the wrong (skipping classes, staying out late, neglecting his homework). Arthur had done nothing this time except distract his father from his inexplicable midnight barn project.

Nevertheless, it had been enough to keep Arthur as far away from his father's impending insanity as humanly possible.

Oh, yes, Arthur may have been a simple teenage boy, but he knew what insanity looked like and it appeared his old man was on the brink of it. No point arguing with crazy, he decided; just let father do his thing in the barn and keep a low profile. Another year and 6 months and he'd be in uni, far removed from whatever was happening here. And who knew; could just be a midlife crisis thing. Any day now his father may snap out of his odd little fugue state and go back from terrifying to simply scary.

There was just one thing standing in the way of his pretending to keep calm and carry on, and that was Merlin.

They'd gone from mortal enemies in the first grade to sworn besties in the third, and one night Arthur had decided to confide in Merlin about the crazy shit his father got up to late at night.

Merlin, being a soft-hearted soul with an unwavering desire to save his friends from the reality of their shitty lives, had automatically suggested secret sleepovers.

Arthur hadn't wanted to go there to begin with because he didn't want his all-time favourite mate to be exposed to his dad's sheer level of crazy. The situation was further complicated on Merlin's 16th birthday, when the aforementioned boy admitted to never being kissed before and Arthur had boldly decided to take it onto himself to remedy that.

There was nothing quite like making out with your best of friends to kill all chances at keeping a neutral perspective.

Though Arthur tried vehemently to get Merlin to swear _never_ to cross onto Pendragon property after 1AM, he should've known his insolent, rebellious best friend wouldn't listen; especially not after the kind of kiss they'd shared in the privacy of Arthur's room.

He'd been cringing at the noises coming from his Father's workshop when a series of almost-imperceptible knocks came at his window. _Merlin and his bloody pebbles._

Arthur leaned out of the window and hissed at his best-mate-meets-something-more; "Get out of here, you freak, I'll talk to you tomorrow at school."

This sadly only seemed to embolden Merlin to climb up to his roof, like the sort of untrained vagabond that he was.

"Say what, now?"

Unable to resist the lure entirely, Arthur pressed his forehead against his best friend slash boyfriend's and groaned. "You hear that sound? That's the sound of my dad going bloody mental, so please, _please_ get out now and I'll talk to you tomorrow morning."

Merlin took in Arthur's look of distress, and nodded. That was the greatest thing about Merlin: as much as he loved to push, he also knew when to stop.

"Alright. But I'll see you tomorrow at nine at our usual meeting spot, right?"

Arthur grinned and pressed a final kiss to his best friend's lips. "Right. Now piss on off."

Merlin shot him another one of his many cheeky grins before disappearing altogether.

***

Arthur woke up once again from a series of inexplicable noises coming from the barn.

However, things were different this time: it was 3AM and he'd apparently drifted back off to sleep after Merlin's surprise visit.

For another thing, he couldn't quite manage to ignore the noises coming from his father's barn.

He shrugged an authentic sheep's wool hoodie over his pyjamas and made his way towards the barn, ready this once and for all to confront his father's late-night shenanigans.

As he got closer and closer to the barn, an unsettling sound stuck with him: Arthur couldn't have told anyone what the sound of saws upon human bones remotely sounded like, but he knew it right the minute his fist hovered across the barn doors in an approximation of a knock.

He did the only thing a stupid 16-year-old boy would know to do in a similar situation: he flung open the barn doors, hoping to catch his father in some unspeakable act or another.

The sight that greeted him made him wish fervently he'd never bothered to go head-to-head with his dad, on anything, ever.

"Good of you to join me, boy," Uther Pendragon's booming voice confronted his son from every angle of the narrow construction.

"I'd have spared your friend, but I'm afraid his advances towards your noble, blameless soul were beginning to worry me..."

Arthur followed his father's voice to where Merlin's face greeted him on the edge of a spike; decapitated and still somehow looking earnest and pleading in death.

"Father... Why would you... Why..." Arthur's voice was so close to giving out, and his father's face was so close to pride, he didn't know where to begin...

***

All that Arthur remembered of the last 10 hours were tears, screams and utter terror concerning his father and the number of crucified and/or beheaded bodies in the barn.

" _They're all sinners, Arthur; I beg of you, my only son, not to be another sinner._ "

The sight of his beloved Merlin's - where best friend met future boyfriend - head on a spike - sent Arthur spiralling straight down the path of insanity; no longer registering his father's cruel words and instead nudging him closer towards the edge of pure, unadulterated madness.

"MERLIN!"

Upon witnessing his son's tears, Uther did the only thing he knew to do: he draped a shawl over the face of his beloved son's erstwhile lover.

"Now, Arthur, I know it will take some time getting used to, but your friend was committing a grave sin against mankind..."

Throughout his father's vicious words, Arthur took note of the other heads blatantly put on display: Morgause, his sister Morgana's secret half-sister; Mordred, a young man loyal to Morgana and Morgause both; Catrina, Uther's latest trophy wife who'd 'disappeared' with her long-term lover of 15 years; Jonas, the aforementioned lover; and finally, horrifically, Merlin; the only man Arthur had and would ever love, prominently displayed on a skewer for all the world to see.

Arthur's face collapsed in a torrent of helpless tears, and none of his father's attempts at reasoning managed to connect with him.

"MERLIN," cried Arthur, collapsing onto his knees in front of the man-made effigy his father had succeeded to erect in the 2 hours since Merlin had snuck back out of Arthur's window.

From somewhere behind him came the resigned voice of his father; "I'm sorry it had to be this way, Arthur. I'd truly hoped... Well, never mind, I see what I must do."

Arthur swallowed his tears, his indignation, his desperation the moment he felt the press of the blade to his throat.

What followed was only darkness.


	12. Get Thee To The Church In Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As a young priest during the All Hallow's Eve season, Merlin's unfortunately familiar with the concept of exorcisms.
> 
> This one... this one may need a bit of time getting used to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :) Mostly ridiculous. Total palate cleanser after that last one.

"It started around two weeks ago when his behaviour began to spiral and he could no longer be kept in regular company."

Merlin followed his middle-aged client across the vast fields of the man's estate.

"Though I suppose he was at his worst just two nights before. Blatant disregard for manners, refusing to eat anything but raw meat, kicking and hollering whenever someone got too close."

"Sounds about right, Sir. It's a good thing you've asked for me."

Uther Pendragon raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "Well, I believe your sort are charlatans, but I'm at the end of my tether."

Merlin was used to this, and got a grim sense of satisfaction out of proving people wrong. Be nice if there were no need to exorcise any demons at all, but it was a living, obscure as it may be, and Merlin was the best of his calibre.

"Now, he's in here, and I warn you he'll be a challenge."

"Won't be a problem, Sir, I've dealt with many a- A stable? _You're keeping him in a stable?_ "

"Of course," said Uther, indignantly. "Where ever else would I put him?"

Merlin needed a minute to collect his thoughts. People had their ways of dealing with demons, but for Christ's sake, a demon's reach could span far beyond a mere old posh boy's estate. Demonic possession or no, Merlin was not in favour of trapping actual human beings inside confined spaces in a bid for safety and he supposed he'd never get used to it.

Over the last three years he'd seen a boy in a crate, an elderly woman trapped inside a home library that was _hidden behind a secret wall_ , and a sealed-off playroom containing a very active, loudly farting, prank-happy demon who'd inhabited the body of a six-year-old girl that gave Merlin the run-around before he caught her by the collar and had to conclude she was just a very spirited, pain in the arse little child; no demons involved there.

So he was used to seeing things most other priests didn't have to engage, being higher up on the totem pole than he was. But _a stable_?!

Uther Pendragon moved to open the stable doors and Merlin had to refrain from shaking his head in dismay.

Every cruel, demonic possession still held a bloody human soul at the centre of it! Possession was not the same as absorption; to keep a living, breathing creature trapped inside a barn seemed unnecessarily cruel to Merlin.

Unless, of course, the creature was a horse.

It was a horse. He was currently being employed to exorcise the demons from _a fucking horse_.

***

He didn't know how long he'd been staring for. A minute, an hour, a bloody decade?

Merlin rarely obeyed the vows he'd taken, which was part of what made him a mediocre priest but a magnificent exorcist (hard to rattle a devoutly religious man who frequently said 'goddamned' and laid with men before as well as after he was sworn in), but even he was taken aback by the stream of curses that filled his head upon realising he'd been hired to do an exorcism on _a horse_.

Uther Pendragon was completely oblivious to his new hire's internal angry meltdown and continued his pompous monologue. "Of course, he's on his best behaviour right this moment, but I can only believe he saw this coming..."

Vision beginning to blur, Merlin reached out and grabbed his wealthy benefactor by the shoulder.

"You hired me," he hissed between gritted teeth. "To exorcise your horse?"

The old boy just blinked at him. "Well, yes."

Merlin had to close his eyes and think of cat memes to keep from lashing out and decking Uther one.

"Animals aren't privy to demonic possession."

"Hengroen's always been a very special-"

" _NOT EVER_ ," Merlin bellowed.

"Lord Jesus Christ Almighty, there has never been a single animal got possessed by a demon and that's including your sodding horse!"

It was clear from his affronted expression that Uther Pendragon had expected to meet with a non-swearing priest, but fuck him, that's what he got.

"I beg your pardon, but I believe that if you look at Hengroen's general demeanour you will-"

"I will find he's a bloody horse and they sometimes get tempestuous!"

Two different sets of loud cackles, male and female, sounded from the other end of the barn.

"Could've told you that, Father."

Merlin wasn't sure whom of the two they'd just addressed, him or Uther, but clearly Uther had been expecting the challenge - if not exactly from his priest's side.

"Whatever you may think, this horse has gone from a magnificent, prize-winning animal to a bloody wretch and I expect you to deal with it!"

He stormed out, leaving Merlin behind with a very unpossessed horse and two people in their early 20s who were laughing like they may have a touch of the demonic spirit themselves.

"Your... your _face_!" gasped the man, and leaned against the woman, who seemed to be having some trouble standing up on her own.

"That right there is the face of a man ready to denounce God," she snorted, and theatrically wiped at her eyes.

Merlin groaned. "So this is, what exactly? Some posh kids's prank? Think I haven't been hired to exorcise the tail end of a dog before because he was getting to be, and I quote, 'a bit whiffy'?"

He really should've read the room, because the two people positively collapsed in a fit of giggles.

"Right, sod the pay, I'm not putting up with this."

"Oh please, sir! Rescue this horse from Lucifer's grasp!" shouted the woman and another fit of snorts followed him out of the stable.

Merlin was just out the doors when a steady hand landed on his shoulder, and he turned around and looked right into a face that made his usual subjects of worship pale in comparison.

The young man was a work of art, where strong jaw and aquiline nose met positively sinful plush lips and a tousled mop of soft-looking golden blond hair.

"We didn't mean to offend you, Father," and didn't Merlin just have to fight the terrible instinct to insist he call him 'Daddy' instead. That simply would not do.

"And just so you know, this wasn't a prank hire. It's just Father's been on and on about that horse and we knew he was going to do something monumentally stupid and my sister and I," he motioned towards an equally beautiful young woman leaning up against the stable, arms crossed and face contorted in a smirk. "We had to see it for ourselves."

As he usually did when confronted with obnoxiously beautiful people, Merlin sacrified his exasperation for the sake of pure snark.

"Monumentally stupid, am I? Let me tell you something, lad, I've seen things-"

"So have I. And you've got to admit that thinking a horse of all things needs an exorcism is - no offence - Christing stupid."

Merlin sighed. Deeply.

"Of all the ridiculous things I've borne witness to, including several instances of people claiming their neighbours speak in tongues only for it to turn out to be Welsh, _yes_ , a horse exorcism is somewhere at the top of the bloody list."

The other man grinned, exposing a single slightly crooked tooth so out of place on that perfect face that Merlin wanted to lean in and lick it. Honestly, exorcisms were the only part of priesthood he was actually good at.

"Well, there you go. But if I can give you some advice... If my Father's hired you, I'm guessing it's not for a small amount of money. And seeing as the horse will continue the rest of his life acting like, well, a horse, be stupid of you to dismiss the opportunity here."

The young woman had approached them and clapped with glee. "Please, Father, save our horse from eternal damnation!"

***

In the end, Merlin had only his hormones and increasing rent to blame. He exorcised the horse.

Flinging holy water at the creature seemed cruel at first, but the onslaught of cold, unpleasant wetness improved the creature's attitude, so Merlin made sure to instruct Uther Pendragon fling a special bottle of holy water (just a vial of water taken from the church's fountain) at the beast whenever it copped an attitude.

Easiest money he'd ever made.

In addition to the hefty sum, Merlin also owed Uther Pendragon a thanks for getting him to leave the priesthood once and for all. 

No vow of abstinence was worth being in the magnificent presence of Arthur Pendragon, and Morgana Pendragon had such a remarkable tally sheet of sins, she couldn't even be reasonably considered the Mary Magdalene to Merlin's Jesus (and some Jesus he was, screwing the son and drinking with the daughter).

More than anything, though, he never again wanted to be hired to perform an exorcism on a fucking horse.


	13. The Old Man's Cabin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 10 years ago: A couple of young Scouts. A legendary campfire tale.
> 
> 10 years later: Most of these same people reunited; far beyond their Scouting days. That same old tale.
> 
> A cabin that never ages...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)
> 
> <3

_"There's a cabin out in the woods..."_

_The small group of dutiful Scouts groans at the opening line of the one boisterous young Scout's campfire tale._

_"There's **only** woods out here, Gwaine, zero cabins, and you know it!" yells Gwen; sweet and innocent until a salacious horror story presents itself. Then she's all about the facts and proof, and sod the likes of Gwaine who have many a tall tale up their sleeve but nary proper evidence. Gwen may be lovely and kind in general, but she's ultimately a relentless, scrappy little fact-hungry bastard when the situation calls for it._

_Gwaine's face contorts into a special kind of smirk. The young lad has many a derisive grin up his sleeve, but there's a minor selection of insufferable faces he saves for when he feels his closest mates are being especially dumb._

_"Oh, but Guinevere, that's where your survival skills fail you..."_

_Arthur's eyes threaten to roll back into his skull. Being the group's poshest, most educated member, he is blessed with a spectacular vocabulary for a 10-year-old, which ordinarily would make him want to boast if it hadn't been for the fact that Gwaine came from the same level of old money and prime education as Arthur. Unlike Arthur, however, Gwaine refuses to admit to where he comes from, insisting on the clever-but-wily-street-urchin persona, which makes his spectacularly articulate (and pretentious) monologues all the more obnoxious where Arthur's concerned._

_"Get on with the sodding story, you rube!" Thank heavens for Arthur's bastard little sister Morgana. She always had a tendency to read Arthur's mind and vocalise his thoughts even more rudely than he'd ever intended to be._

_Much to Arthur's dismay, Gwaine's grin only widens at Morgana's interjection._

_"Very well, much as I'd hate to challenge a beautiful lady..."_

_Morgana tosses a baked potato at Gwaine's face, reminding him that they're not cutesy American teens gathered round the campfire roasting marshmallows, but in fact they're a bunch of freezing little English kids roasting all manner of foods in order to stay warm and alive during the All Hallow's Eve ritual of sharing spooky stories._

_Gwaine catches the potato in one hand, and Arthur reluctantly admires this move; that potato must've been searing hot. The boy lathers his potato in condiments (ketchup, sour cream, and a handful of sliced onions), before taking a hungry bite and continuing his story with a full mouth, "Surb fe cubbun," (which his mates accurately translate to meaning "So, the cabin..."), Gwaine swallows and continues. "It used to belong to this right sack of shite, apparently."_

_Naturally, the use of the S-word has all the kids enraptured, even Arthur, however reluctantly._

_"Older than Christ hisself, but with none of the kindness. Seems he was way into witchcraft, and way not into little kids showing up on his doorstep. So Halloween was a night of grave danger, you dig?" Gwaine smirks and looks around the circle. "Not for the old boy, of course, but definitely for the stupid little buggers dragging their Trick-Or-Treat bags up to his place."_

_The circle had fallen silent during Gwaine's tale, which irritated Arthur to no end. As far as he knew, Gwaine had never told a single damned story that didn't belong to some ancient relative or another._

_Arthur supposed he would have been fine with the situation if it wasn't for Merlin, he of the slack jaw and cartoonishly bulging eyes and endless fascination wherever Gwaine was concerned._

_Merlin had been Arthur's best friend since preschool, when Merlin - son of a loving Mummy - noticed Arthur being picked up by all sorts of servants who weren't his actual parents. Arthur had been so thoroughly ashamed that someone had managed to see through his carefully constructed image (he'd never wanted to be known as the 'poor little rich boy', he of the dead Mummy and indifferent Dad; his initial goal had been 'distant little rich boy') but scrawny little big-eared Merlin, with all of his earnestness and genuine concern, saw straight through the facade and refused to give Arthur a break after that._

_And well, how exactly was Arthur to blame for falling in love with this stupid, antenna-eared, soft-hearted little boy? It was Merlin who'd inadvertently assaulted Arthur with his big otherworldly eyes, kindness and windmill ears and relentless empathy._

_No, as far as Arthur was concerned, this was entirely Merlin's fault. Twice as much so when Gwaine showed up in all of his secretly-posh, outspoken, brash glory._

_In Gwaine, Arthur discovered the rival his sister Morgana hadn't been: every bit as pretty, understatedly posh, and outspoken. Except **male**. And by the time Arthur realised that was Merlin's jam, it was already too late._

_"The old man's cabin has always been a source of mystery, but it wasn't until a brave young troup of boys-"_

_Morgana coughs and manages to A) tear Arthur from his sentimental thoughts, and B) get Gwaine to shake his head in genuine confusion rather than simply an attempt to disarm his captive audience (and isn't Arthur just that tiny bit grateful for his big sis's presence)._

_"And **undoubtedly girls** ," corrects Gwaine, not without a bit of discomfort at the sight of Morgana pointing her potato-less spear in his direction. "...ventured towards the old man's cabin and proudly knocked on the door."_

_Gwaine takes a moment to devour a bright red sweet pepper, leaving the crowd in suspense._

_"Did he eat the boys and leave the girls?" pipes up Freya, a wide-eyed little girl so distrustful of boys (except Merlin) she's halfway retreated into her group of girlfriends (and Merlin)._

_At this, of course Morgana cackles. Arthur would've expected no less._

_"Naturally," she says in the type of authoritative voice that makes Arthur want to glue her braids together. "Witches and wizards love the taste of thick, **thick** ," and here she chances a glance at Arthur, "...little boys."_

_Arthur does the rightful thing and empties a can of peas in his sister's direction._

_"Dunno if that's what God meant by love and peas, but I'll take it," states Gwaine with the kind of confidence that makes Merlin swoon at him and Arthur sharpen his spear imperceptibly._

_"So an assortment of boys and girls knocked on the old man's door, only for the door to open under the pressure of their combined efforts..."_

_No matter how much Arthur enjoys a campfire spook story, all it takes is one look at Merlin's wide blue eyes, leveled at Gwaine's, for him to toss his spear of pepper-beef-potato into the fire and relish in the sudden spark._

_Confronted with Gwaine's indignant, saucer-eyed gaze, he simply mutters, "My nan told a swifter horror story, mate."_

_As the group moves on from creepy stories to regular dumb kid stories, Arthur pretends he doesn't notice Merlin's wounded, deprived look, until the rest of the gang's immersed in silly tales - with Gwaine at the head - and Arthur scoots closer to Merlin and whispers to him his favourite Halloween legends, revelling in the warmth of his best mate at his side, both delighting in the giggles and gasps he elicits as well as trying to ignore said best mate's wide, fascinated eyes._

 

***

**10 YEARS LATER**

"MERLIN! _MERLIN_!"

Arthur is standing in the middle of his room, dressed in God knows what (if anyone bothered to ask Morgana, which Arthur had not, it was a modernised He-Man costume), trying to decide if he looks appropriate for the night's festivities; bloody figures that the one person whose opinion might actually help in that regard is nowhere to be found.

"M... E... R... L..."- Arthur's purposefully obnoxious countdown is interrupted by a wet towel being tossed at his face.

"Was in the shower, you napkin, which you'd have sodding remembered if you'd bothered to join me there."

Arthur has very few worthwhile retorts at the sight of his boyfriend fresh out of the shower, towels or other attempts at cover-ups apparently be damned.

Ordinarily, he would've conjured a witty comeback out of nowhere, truly he could've, if it wasn't for the fact that his lover's sole used towel currently hovered precariously near the vicinity of his face.

In a futile attempt to sniff Merlin's thoroughly debauched towel, Arthur murmurs, "Might want to consider finishing said shower before copping an attitude, mate."

Merlin wouldn't have been Merlin if he didn't manage to see right through Arthur's pretensions and straight into his arousal.

"I washed myself... _thoroughly_ ," and the way he delights in Arthur's resounding groan is nothing short of cruel since they've only 20 minutes left to take off for the party.

"But by all means, if you're so inclined to lie to yourself and make us miss a good half hour of Morgana's planned festivities, that's up to you," after which Merlin makes a point of it to turn his back on Arthur and bend over altogether too slowly to pick up his pants.

Boxer-briefs on tight and well, Merlin glances back at Arthur and winks in the salacious kind of manner that should've looked completely out of place on Merlin's angelic face, especially considering their shared history, but looks all the more delectable for it (also considering their shared history). He turns around, still largely undressed, and raises a critical eyebrow. "Think Morgana underestimated you, mate; that ensemble isn't hiding a bloody thing."

***

Arthur had never been a Couple's Costumes kind of lad. Then again, he'd spent his years between the age of 3 and 16 pretending not to be a Merlin kind of lad, either, and look where that got him.

Adolescent gay-denial-phase aside, where it got him was this: dating Merlin (yes!), and dressed up as He-Man in the cold October days (nope!) just so Merlin, dressed in a muscular foam costume and a Skeletor mask (double nope, as Merlin's delectable body was lost inside that weirdo bodysuit) would complement Arthur's scantily-clad, be-wigged self.

The more he thinks about it, the more their current predicament pisses Arthur off. If he's fit enough to live up to He-Man standards (and gosh, wasn't that a childhood dream come true), the more Merlin ought to have sucked it up and gone mostly nude under his Skeletor costume (thus cementing a whole nother childhood dream).

Arthur supposes he only has himself to blame, there; years of teasing Merlin for being a scrawny git have led to this point. Then again, Merlin had called his number by the time they were 15 and pointed out that only an obsessively attentive 'friend' would take note of the state his body was in, cruel barbs or no.

Skeletor is nothing but a bloody reminder of all the times Arthur called Merlin scrawny and noodle-limbed in an attempt to distance himself from being too gay around his singular gayest obsession, and Merlin bloody knows it, hence the ridiculous couples costume.

"I still think you should be going just as nude as I am, you nit."

Merlin's face is barely distinguishable underneath the Skeletor mask, but Arthur can practically _feel_ his boyfriend's eyerolls at this point. It's a bit like a twin connection, except they're connected through the dick and heart simultaneously; in fact, Arthur can barely distinguish which throb comes from where.

"As close as my face comes to Skeletor's, his fitness regimen has nothing on mine," grumbles Merlin, once more proving that Arthur has been entirely too much of a condescending prick over the course of their friend-meets-relationship.

"I wasn't bloody serious, you know," mumbles Arthur. "Just trying very hard not to bum you."

Merlin throws himself back onto their shared bed, hand clutched to his heart, a sight made altogether more ridiculous by the fact that he's still dressed in full Skeletor regalia.

"Oh, He-Man," he guffaws. "By the power of Gay-Skull... Ravish me!"

Arthur looks down at his best-friend-turned-lover, taking in the ridiculous costume as well as the deliciously long legs kicking at the air.

"It's a good thing for the both of us that Gwaine will probably want to bum you silly, mate. Dunno if I'll ever get back there."

***

Arthur, as is tradition, has spoken too soon.

He's back in his regular seat across the campfire; not next to Merlin, but close enough to him as well as Gwaine to note the look of admiration in his boyfriend's eyes, and liking it _so much less_ than when he'd been 8 and stupid.

"For tonight, in celebration of our collective 10 year anniversary, I'd like to revisit... The old man's cabin."

The group, now old enough to put an end to childish superstitions, groans collectively.

Whatever kind of satisfaction Arthur would've ordinarily got from this, it was immediately dampened by Gwaine himself, tossing his glossy hair back and smirking that Lothario smirk that no matter how much Arthur knew Merlin loved him still managed to rankle a fair bit.

In the middle of Gwaine's pulling out all the seductive stops, Arthur's eyes meet Merlin's to find that his boyfriend only has eyes for him. It's Merlin's bright, trusting eyes that allow Arthur to ignore his petty jealousies and focus on a story long untold.

"I tried to tell you before, but I only ever got cheek for my knowledge," pouts Gwaine. It's the old crowd's brand new friend Percival, a slab of muscle with a friendly face, who pokes Gwaine in the side in an unspoken question for the man to continue. Arthur would bet money on Gwaine's cheeks brightening if he thought Gwaine had it in him to blush ever.

On the other side of the logs sits Gwen, as well as her long-term boyfriend Lancelot whose space used to be occupied by Morgana. Lancelot is a wonderful man, a total deer-turned-human of a person, which makes him perfect for Gwen, as well as a calming addition to their group.

Still, Arthur wishes his headstrong, insufferable sister could've taken the night off and goofed around with the rest of them like old mates. Well, no need to pine as long as he has his ludicrous Skeletor boyfriend by his side.

"So the old man..." at this, Gwaine's cheeks begin to brighten even more than they had at Percival's playful jab to the gut. "I'll be honest: that's where the story ends."

A collective of voices rises up in protest, most of them boiling down to "What the _fuck_ , Gwaine?"

Once more, they've underestimated the playful Irishman. Gwaine's clearly attempting to suppress a triumphant grin, and he proudly withstands Gwen's sharp scrutiny, followed by Lancelot's scrutiniy-in-support - in fact it isn't until Freya's big brown pooling eyes meet Gwaine's that he gives it all up.

"As much as I think we _truly_ ought to discuss Freya's speechless ability to uncover terrorist secrets, I suppose I owe you all a horror story and not just the beginning of which."

Gwaine, seated near Freya, claps a hand over the young girl's eyes. Freya squeaks indignantly but remains perched on her log, awaiting the rest of the story.

"Now, I dunno if young Freya here poses a threat to our story, but I think we can all agree she's been a little scrappy as of this moment."

Freya lifts her face to bite at Gwaine's hand, and Gwaine simply tweaks her nose and continues, "As I said..."

Next to Arthur, Merlin's body(suit) rumbles with laughter, and Arthur cuts him an unknowing glare.

"Don't worry," whispers Merlin, leaning in, "Out of all these pretties, you're still the prattiest. Ahem. Prettiest."

Arthur barely has the time to fake-gut-punch Merlin, when Gwaine continues his story:

"I'd love to claim my reasons for not continuing the story of a lifetime were down to my being distracted by the beauty of my company, but alas... The old man's cabin is real, and it is fucked. And I think tonight, finally, after all these years... we're all ready to see it for ourselves."

At this, the group's eyes are finally on Gwaine ( _just as the shiny-haired fuck wants it_ , Arthur thinks, nevertheless wholly immersed in Gwaine's words).

Gwaine raises up from his log and dusts himself off. "The cabin is real," he shrugs. "The old man? That's still a matter of whoever's seen him. Wanna go and see?"

Not a single member of the group declines said offer. At least half of them must be scared out of their wits, but pride has a way of counteracting those feelings; Arthur would certainly know.

As they dutifully follow Gwaine further down the forest path, Merlin's hand (the only part of him not covered in foam) squeezes Arthur's. "All right, He-Man?"

Arthur squeezes back and murmurs, "Just excited to get back to Castle Grayskull and see if the carpets match the, uh, skull."

Merlin's delighted laugh rumbles through his own ridiculous costume as well as Arthur's relatively bare appearance. Merlin, soft-hearted dream boyfriend that he is, wraps a crazy foam arm around Arthur's waist and tries to rub some warmth into him.

"Just as soon as we've got Gwaine off of this crazy path of-"

Arthur halts, held back by Merlin's foam arm, and tries to catch a glimpse of whatever's going on that's got his boyfriend's eyes nearly popping out of his skull and the rest of the group gasping in awe.

It's a cabin. It's an actual bloody cabin that _not a one of them_ (Arthur can tell by their astonished gaping, himself included) have ever encountered, not once during their many silly play dates in the middle of the woods.

Arthur knows for a fact that he and Morgana played knights at the edge of the lake, situated right there next to the dilapidated cabin that neither of them had ever noticed.

Merlin's face is a study in awe, and he reaches out reverently to touch the windchimes (no doubt hoping to catch a glimpse of the other side, Arthur thinks fondly).

Freya is taking her sweet time to approach the cabin, stopping once in a while to make sure the leaves entwining with her sturdy boots are just leaves, before running a slender hand across the steps to make sure... hell, Arthur has no idea what she's trying to make sure of.

Gwaine stands confidently - when does he _not_ , thinks Arthur, grudgeful - on the steps of the cabin.

"Ladies and gentler ladies, this... This is what I've been trying to tell you about for all these years. It's the old man's cabin; a place of magic, a place of-"

" _Get off my steps,_ " croaks a voice.

Gwaine's smile falters a bit, but he proudly continues, "Er... Just some technical difficulties, I imagine. Not to worry, ladies and gents, because this is clearly a house of-"

 _"Not... One... More... Word..._ "

In the background, the sound of a chainsaw starting up sent the group into disarray.

Solemn-faced but obviously terrified, Gwen has launched herself at Lancelot, whose other arm tries desperately to support Freya, who looks like she's on the verge of tears.

Arthur has positioned himself firmly in front of Merlin, no doubt looking like an absolute twat but willing to risk himself to save his equally twat-looking boyfriend from certain death.

It's not until a couple of minutes, when the tension can rightly be cut with a knife, that a duo of low-pitched voices guffaws from within the house.

Merlin shudders, and Arthur's had enough.

"Who's there?" he shouts, jumping up on the steps. delighted to see that Lancelot has his back. "Show yourself!"

A cumulation of shadows forms at the entrance of the cabin, and Arthur takes refuge in the fact that Lancelot appears equally shaken. Both men hold out their fists, though to what end, neither seem exactly sure.

Slowly but certainly, the combined laughter turns into something vaguely male/female as well as recognisable.

Arthur barely has time to feel like a prick when Morgana and Leon appear on the steps.

In the end it's Freya who shouts what they're all thinking. " _YOU GUYS?!_ "

At least they have the decency to look vaguely fucking ashamed.

"Sorry, buds," stammers Leon. "I asked Morgana to keep an eye on the place, since she didn't want any dogs, and then one thing led to another and-"

"Fuck you doing on our property?" says Morgana, chin raised defiantly in the way only a true Pendragon could.


End file.
